


The Ghost and Emma Swan

by Drowned_dreamer



Series: Fated Forever [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, No Curse, based on a movie, ghost!killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drowned_dreamer/pseuds/Drowned_dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking for a fresh start, widow and mother, Emma Swan, moves to Storybrooke and falls in love with the mysterious Misthaven Cottage. Little did she know that the house was already occupied by a darkly intriguing (and very deceased) sea captain. My take on 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir' OUAT style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt for this fandom. Had this idea rumbling around and couldn't let it go. Huge fan of TGAMM and really wanted to adapt it to a Hook/Emma storyline. This is a very AU version of Once events, in which none of the characters are based on fairytales, and the setting is historical rather than fantasy. Many of the backstories have also been altered. Currently, I don't have a Beta, so all mistakes are entirely mine.

"Okay, look there, Ms. Swan and you'll get your first glimpse of Misthaven Cottage," The sharp-dressed, dark-eyed realtor said, pointing off-handedly upwards along the road.

And Emma's breath caught in her throat. Just peeking out behind a line of tall uneven shrubs and coarse trees, the house was even more spectacular in reality than what she had seen in the pictures. With it's washed-white walls, the cottage's north corner looked down from atop the winding gravel road and the West front faced a steep cliff with a clear view of the ocean. Suddenly Emma felt like she was in the setting from an old romance novel. She swallowed hard and tried to tamp down on the emotions she was feeling at the sight of seeing the house.

 _Her house,_ she thought wistfully.

_Whoa, take it easy, Emma. It's not yours yet._

"It's nice, Mrs. Mills. Kind of a steep drive though, don't you think? Looks a bit run-down, too." She said, trying to sound as apathetic as possible.

The realtor ( _Regina_ , Emma recalled _. She said to call her Regina. Like they were friends._ ) sighed at her and pulled her black sedan off to the side at the bottom of the unkempt driveway. "I suppose, then, we should walk from here?" She offered curtly, clearly eyeing the driveway with disgust.

Emma nodded her agreement and turned to her son. Henry was completely taken in by the view of the ocean just beyond the treeline and his usual exuberance was quelled for the moment. "Hey, kid," she whispered in his ear as he turned to her and beamed, "wanna go take a walk?" He nodded eagerly and quickly threw open the door of the sedan with his rounded and slightly clumsy 6-year-old hands.

She met him on the other side of the car and his little hand slipped easily into hers. Her heart melted into a puddle of gooey marshmallow softness like it did every time.

The walk up the driveway was largely dominated by the sound of three pairs of shoes crunching on the gravel, as Mrs. Mills, the realtor seemed reluctant to speak, choosing to concentrate on keeping her high heeled shoes from disappearing into the rock. Despite her frequent huffs of annoyance, the walk was over fairly quickly and rounding the last of the overgrown shrubs, Emma finally could see the cottage in its entirety.

It was like entering a dream. A really good dream. For a moment, she could have even sworn there was a slight mist obscuring the air. Even though the two-story cottage may have been missing large chunks of wood panels and in desperate need of a fresh coat (or five) of paint, Emma knew she had never seen anything so charming. Her heart sped with anticipation of finally getting to peer inside the house she had so long wanted to see.

The grainy, blurred photos of Misthaven Cottage she had seen through the online realty website really had not done it justice at all. One look at the two large dormer windows, the black-framed door and the small freesia-covered porch, and Emma felt an instantaneous rush of excitement. Despite the run-down state of the place, something just called to her. The house seemed lonely. Unwanted. In need of someone to believe it could be great once more.

She knew the feeling well.

A lone fluffy cloud hung low over the house, electrifying the atmosphere as she approached, and her arms dotted with gooseflesh. She closed her eyes, imagining that she could hear the wind blowing off the ocean and through the weathered eaves calling her name. Who knew Emma Swan could have a romantic side after all?

Henry tugged fiercely at her hand and she opened her eyes to look down at him, his eyes big brown saucers of wonder.

"What do you think, kid?"

He looked up at her, mouth slightly agape and then slowly breaking into a small grin. "It looks like a boat, mommy."

Henry's statement floored her. Now that he had said it, she couldn't unsee it. How had she missed that? The way the front end curved to a point like a bow, or how there were little rows of round porthole-shaped windows along the top.

Even Regina seemed impressed by Henry's sharp observations. "Wow, that's…you are very clever, little man." Henry turned to her and flashed his brightest smile. Regina paused for a moment, clearly moved by his charm. She bent down to him and said, "You know, some of the wood used in the construction did come from an old ship. Come on in and I'll tell you and your mom a little bit about the history of the place." She offered as she walked forward with a flourish of keys.

The front door of the cottage at one time must have been painted a welcoming, cheery red, but the paint was so chipped and flaked that the wood was now a dark, stained ochre. Two lead-glass windows framed the door, offering a slivered view of the foyer beyond. Emma gripped Henry tighter and tried to hold back the flutter of nerves in her stomach as she stepped inside.

As they stepped inside, the smell of the sea and old wood assaulted her, filling her mind with visions of old libraries and ancient museums. She couldn't imagine a more interesting and adventurous smell. Dust particles dotted the air like tiny faeries. Being locked up for years, the place was stiflingly warm. A few scattered pieces of furniture left from previous owners were covered in clothes, but otherwise, the place was just empty. Isolated. Forgotten.

All of Emma's previous feelings about the house magnified as she strolled through the foyer into the main living area. The rooms were smaller than she had expected them to be, but her mind quickly filled them with the soft twill couches, old books and knickknacks they already owned. Already she could see how the room would look as she added new pieces, and she knew it wouldn't feel cramped, only cozy. The warm oak floors, despite the layers of dust, had a layer of smooth polish and the eggshell blue and walls would barely need touched-up at all. The rooms also seemed to have a gently sloping curve instead of hard corners, again leading her to the feeling of being inside a ship at sea. She could almost feel the sway of the ocean under her feet.

As they moved through to the back rooms, the sunlight poured in through a set of long, beveled windows. Through them, she could see the slope of an unkempt but large yard, a line of thorny bushes at the back, and finally the great wide expanse of ocean beyond. Instantly, her mind was making up a hundred different scenarios of her and Henry sitting a small kitchen table, drinking hot cocoa and watching the clouds cast shadows upon the water.

It was her idea of heaven.

Regina spun herself around, leaning against the kitchen counter and studying Emma's face. "You like the place. I can tell." She taunted, and Emma reluctantly agreed with a slight nod.

"It's an amazing view," she conceded.

"You could say that. I'm not going to lie, though. The house itself is pretty rough. It will take a bit of work to get the house into a proper state, although the plumbing, wiring, and roof are fairly adequate. I can get you the exact dates on those updates back at my office, if you decide you're interested." She shuffled a small folder, pulling out a spec sheet and handing it to Emma as she continued. "The house itself was built in 1897, by an eccentric, albeit wealthy, antique dealer who always wanted to be a sailor, thus the nautical touches. Supposedly, the dark wood paneling along the staircase and the floors and even some of the columns and doors, have all come from the salvaged remains of an old pirate ship," she added with a conspiratorial wink towards her son.

At this, Henry's face lit up with glee and he began hopping around the kitchen pretending to sword fight, while covering his left eye with his hand. Both Regina and Emma watched him with considerable amusement before remembering why they were actually there.

Finally, Emma coughed a little and tried to get back on track with the sale. "Okay, let's say I am interested in this house. Why has it been on the market so long? Is there some major issues needing to be done?" She crossed her arms and tried to school her face back into cold indifference, while mentally calculating just how much money she could salvage together for repairs if necessary.

Regina flinched and darted her eyes away, causing Emma's internal lie-detector to flare to life. "No, nothing specific that I am aware of. However, it is a very old house and I'm sure there are numerous things that will need repaired."

What was this lady playing at? If Emma didn't know better, she would almost think that the realtor was actually trying to keep her from buying the house. Did she look like she couldn't afford it?

"Okay. I'm fine with that. But you really haven't answered my question. What's wrong with this place?"

Regina heaved a long-suffering sigh and crossed her arms this time, staring back. "All right. In the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you that all of the previous occupants have put the house back on the market within 6 months of purchase."

 _No one lasted more than six months? What on earth would make someone ever give this place up like that?_ Emma frowned. "What? Why?"

Regina rolled her eyes and shrugged. "They all claimed that the house was haunted," she mumbled quietly.

Emma blinked. Then blinked again. Then a large smile broke over her face. "You serious? Haunted?" She couldn't help it, she began to laugh.

Regina rolled her eyes and gave her a look of complete exasperation. "Ms. Swan, please. I know how it sounds. _Trust_ me. I have shown this house so many times and every single last person has had the same reaction as you: 'What a view!' or 'This place is perfect!' etcetera, etcetera," she emphasized with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand. "And yet, no one _, no one Ms. Swan_ , has actively lived here in, well, _forever_. I cannot for the life of me figure it out." She seemed truly flustered now, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "This is prime real estate. An old house with an uninterrupted sea view in this market…it should sell for over a mil, easy. It's a travesty, is what it is. I can't say I believe in the supernatural, but there must be some sort of darkness here to explain it. I don't know if it's ghosts or a curse or just really bad luck…but it is absolutely ridiculous!" As if to emphasize her point, she shuddered violently and wrapped her arms around her.

Emma was silent for a long time as she took this information in. She didn't believe in the supernatural either, so the idea of this place being cursed or haunted just seemed absurd. How could a place that felt so _right_ be…dark? "Do you…can I take a look at the upstairs…alone?" Emma asked suddenly.

Her mind was still awhirl and she really just needed space to work out what she was feeling. This house couldn't be dark. It just couldn't. Even trying to apply that word to this place made her angry, almost as if the raven-haired woman had called Henry that name. The house just needed to be shown the light. Again, Emma felt that odd ache of connection in her chest.

Regina nodded and waved her off. "I'll look after your boy until you get back. You know, I've got one of my own about his age." She said softly and far more sincerely than any of her previous tones, as her eyes focused on the boy.

And like a pulled plug, Emma's anger drained away into the ether. Thinking about Henry always had that effect on her. "Really?"

Regina smiled at Henry, who was busy opening all of the kitchen cabinets and peeking inside. It was the genuine affection of that smile that convinced Emma. "His name's Roland. He'll be seven next month. I really don't mind."

Nodding in acceptance, Emma replied, "If you're sure. He can be a bit…enthusiastic."

Regina only nodded back at Emma and for a second, she found herself truly enjoying the presence of the other woman. Maybe they could be friends after all? _It might be nice to have a friend._

"I won't take long," Emma promised before quickly sliding out of the kitchen area and making her way towards the broad staircase off the main foyer.

Ignoring the layers of dust and grime, Emma slid her hand delicately up the banister, almost as if it was a loving caress. She could almost hear the house purr at the touch. When was the last time it had been touched with such care and devotion? It seemed the house ached to be needed as much as she did.

The top of the stairway opened to a deep brown wooden hallway landing leading into three separate bedrooms. More than enough space for just the two of them. She entered the left-hand room first, noting the smell of sunshine on wood, salt, and dust before checking out the closet space and condition of the windows. It would make the perfect room for Henry with just enough space for all his books and toys, and she could easily picture him zooming around the room playing make-believe.

The middle room was the largest, clearly meant to be the master, with a tall, sloped ceiling traversed by large, carved, round beams. But it was the set of balcony doors that could be opened out to a nearly ideal view of the ocean below that stole her breath away. If she didn't know before that this was the house for her, the thought of being able to throw open those windows and have the cool sea air wafting into her bedroom at night had her absolutely determined to stay.

And there it was. _Stay._ A word she had struggled with all her life. Yet, here, she felt oddly reluctant to leave. But this was not her house yet, and there was still one more room to check out: the upstairs bathroom. Pulling herself away, she set out down the right-hand side of the hallway for the last room. Black tiles covered the floor and travelled up half of the walls, while a soft gray paint coated the rest. Overall, it leant the room a plain but sophisticated look. Something between uber modern and classic retro. A deep claw-foot tub dominated one corner, while three small round windows above it made the room feel as if she were deep in the bowels of a ship. On the other end a pedestal sink jutted out from under a large circular mirror. Not the most practical of bathrooms, but a couple of storage shelves and clothing hooks could solve that.

As she exited the bathroom, she caught sight of one more door. Half-hidden in shadow, it was smaller than an average door and Emma couldn't help but wonder where it might lead. Just as she reached out for the door handle, the sunlight that had been spilling in merrily all morning dimmed drastically, changing the entire atmosphere of the house. Emma looked up at the sudden darkness and wandered if a storm was rolling in. It wouldn't be good to get stuck at the house and have to run back down that driveway in the rain with Henry in tow. Whatever was behind this mystery door would just have to wait until later.

It wasn't like she wouldn't have time to check it out after the house was hers, anyway.

Hurrying back down the stairs, she entered the kitchen just as the sun reemerged from behind the gathering clouds. As light once again filled the small kitchen, she noted the way Regina was recounting a silly story about an apple tree and a princess to her son, who sat on the kitchen counter enraptured.

"Ah, Ms. Swan, you're back! How was the upstairs?"

 _Okay, Emma. Game face on. Time to be an adult._ "Not bad, Mrs. Mills, although I thought the rooms were a tad small, and there's not much storage. But overall, I think it will be alright."

Regina's eyes widened as she took in what Emma said. "Wait...are you saying you want to buy this house?"

Emma tried to suppress a grin and nodded. "Yes. I think it will be perfect for Henry and I."

Blinking a few times as if in shock, Regina finally found her voice. "Well…I just…are you sure, Ms. Swan?"

"- Emma."

Regina nodded absently, not quite meeting her eye. She seemed upset. "Uh…Emma," her voice lowered as she frowned. "Look, I'm not trying to…it's just that…" she huffed, unable to adequately express what she was saying.

Crossing her arms, Emma waited her out. "I have the money," she finally replied defensively.

"Oh! I didn't mean to imply..." Her eyes finally met Emma's and she was shocked by the turmoil in the woman's dark orbs. "Look, it's just that…you have a son. And this place…with it's history…"

"I'm not afraid of any sort of superstitious _whatever_ , Mrs. Mills, and I'm not afraid of a little hard work. This is the house I want, for me and for Henry. Now, please, I would like to make an offer."

"Are you positive about this? I mean, if you can't stay, re-selling a house like this is, frankly, financial suicide for those who don't have a really secure bank account to back it up."

Emma swallowed. Buying this house was a risk. A really, _really_ huge risk. Like her-entire-income-for-the-next-decade kind of risk. But she had to try. "I'm sure. And don't worry. I won't be re-selling."

Regina took a moment to study her, and apparently seeing that there would be no use in talking her out of this any further, she reluctantly shrugged her shoulders. "Then, why don't we go back to my office and I'll get the paperwork so you can put an offer on it today?"

Taking a large steadying breath, Emma scooped up her son and felt freer and lighter than she had in…well, forever. "I would love that," she answered.


	2. Chills

"Henry! What box did we pack your clothes in?" Emma yelled while fruitlessly searching through yet another box containing toys and books. Seriously? How did her son get so much stuff? He was six. He shouldn't have this much stuff. And why was it all stuffed animals and plastic action figures? She was going to have to lay down the law on Mary Margaret and David next Christmas.

"Mom!" Henry shouted from somewhere above her. She looked up to see him trying to push a box that was taller than he was towards his bedroom. He was moving it a millimeter at a time, but the pride in his accomplishment shone all over his little face. "This one says 'Henwry cwose'." _Jeez, how did her kid get to be so smart?_

She raced up the staircase, already so familiar she barely felt the burn in her shins. "Good job there, kid! Need some help?" She chuckled to herself at his little grunts as he pushed the box towards his room, refusing to be helped. His bedroom was now painted a bright, sunshine yellow and a border of little red sailboats circled the walls. Tucked into the corner, his bed had a new bedspread in blues, reds and yellows, with a large white pirate ship embroidered in the center. Of course, it had been Henry who picked it out the theme. After all, he kept telling her (and everyone else in his general vicinity) that they were living in a 'piwate ship'.

As they unloaded Henry's clothes into the closet, Emma couldn't help but let her mind wander. She had really done it. She had made her first adult decision all on her own. No Neal. No Mary Margaret and David. Just her choice. Her life. Sure the house had cost her almost all of the life insurance money, but she was assured by her lawyers that she would see a substantial settlement after Neal's case was resolved. And one look at Henry babbling on and on about the ships out on the water or the feel of a good, strong sea breeze wafting through the kitchen window and she knew it was worth it. She was home.

 _Her_ home.

It was something she had never really felt before. Not even with Neal. It was that illusive feeling of contentment and belonging that she never realized had been missing from her marriage. She knew now why that was, but at the time, she kept herself so focused on Henry and his well-being, she buried all those feelings of _wanting_ and _needing_ deep inside, telling herself that she was happy with Neal. That she was in love.

Now she wandered if she really ever truly was in love with Neal, or whether they were together simply because she was too scared to be alone. _Have I ever even been in love?_

…

_"So," Neal said, rubbing small circles over the still small bump on her stomach, "boy or girl?"_

_She turned in his arms to look at him. "How would I know?" She asked, with the slightest teasing tone. "I'm not a psychic, you know."_

_He chuckled softly into her ear and she snuggled down further into his arms. "I meant, what do you want it to be?"_

_She hummed softly. "Don't know, really. A girl maybe?"_

_His eyes widened. "Really? Why?"_

_Shrugging, she went back to enjoying her bowl of popcorn and stared blankly at the movie playing on the screen. "Well, I know how to take care of myself, so I guess a girl would just be easier. It's not like I know what it is like to grow up as a boy."_

_He pinched her, ever-so-slightly, on the arm. "That's what I'm here for."_

_"So you want a boy?" She asked, tilting her head back onto his shoulder, her attention back on him._

_He shrugged and offered her a small, half-smile, his brown eyes warmer than usual. "I don't know. Sure. I think it would pretty cool to have a boy to carry on the family name and all that."_

_Slapping his teasing hand away from her stomach, she laughed. "Whatever. Since when did you care about that sort of thing? Maybe I want it to be called 'Swan'?"_

_His eyes grew darker and the smile faded. Her breath caught at the serious look on his face. "Since I decided that Emma Cassidy has a pretty awesome ring to it."_

_She gulped, heart pounding suddenly. He couldn't be…could he? "Neal? Are you…"_

_"Emma Swan, what do you say? Wanna be a Cassidy?"_

_She frowned, searching his face for a lie and seeing none. "Wait. Is that your proposal?"_

_Drawing a long breath, he nodded slowly. "Emma, will you marry me?"_

_…._

"Mom!"

She looked up from the box of clothes just in time to hear a loud crash from across the room. On the floor were the shattered remained of Henry's new nightlight. Brown eyes open wide with shock and worry, Henry stood staring at her from beside the door.

"Oh, Henry!" She sighed and bent down to him before he could start crying. He reached for her arms with his small, chubby hands and she swept him up easily. It was then that she noticed he was trembling, shaking all over. "What happened?"

Over his shoulder, she looked at the mess on the floor and shook her head as Henry began babbling into her shoulder. "I didn't do it, mommy! I didn't!" He was so adamant and sincere, that her heart broke into tiny pieces for him.

"It's alright. Shhhh, Henry. It's alright." She began rocking him in her arms, his face buried in her neck, until his shuddering sobs died down. "I believe you. It was probably just an accident."

Henry pulled away from her so violently, she almost lost her grip. "No! Not an accident, mommy! It was that man!"

A shiver of cold slipped down her spine, but she shrugged it off. Henry was always an imaginative child. "Henry, look. See? No one else is here. I think maybe you just saw a funny shadow when the light fell."

He looked at her in confusion, then back at the mess on the floor. "Reawy?"

Smiling reassuringly, she nodded. "Yeah, sometimes, our eyes can play tricks on us."

His little brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. "What kind of twicks? Magic twicks?"

Unable to stop herself, she laughed, causing a slow grin to creep across his face, easily replacing the tears. _Crisis averted._ "Sure, kid. Just like magic tricks. Now, why don't you go get washed up for dinner while I get the glass cleaned up?"

At the promise of food, the last of Henry's apprehension completely vanished and he wiggled in her arms until she set him down. She warned him about not getting close to the shards of glass as he ran off down the hallway to the bathroom. Emma frowned at the pile and shook her head.

_A man pushed the light over. Silly._

…

Rolling her shoulders in an attempt to relieve her aching back, Emma slipped quietly from her room, leaving behind a deeply asleep Henry on her bed. He was insistent on sleeping with her, claiming it was 'too dawk' in his room. Emma thought it was probably more due to the fact that it was their first night in the new house and he still wasn't used to it. She was secretly grateful. Unlike her, Henry had never known the fear associated with moving to new places over and over again. He had never had to worry about having a place to call home or parents who loved him. So, allowing him to sleep with her when he was scared was the least she could do, child psychology be damned.

Her soft footfalls barely made a sound as she made her way to the bathroom. It surprised her that the floorboards didn't creak. The house seemed amazingly solid, despite its age. She was curious, not for the first time, about its history and about the person who built the house. Perhaps she would take a trip to the local library soon.

With a flick of her wrist, the bathroom flooded with light and she turned to shut the door behind her, before opting to leave it open partially in case Henry should wake. A small smile played across her lips as she realized that finally _finally_ she could really start to relax. A month's wait for the bank to accept her offer, then a solid week of cleaning and prepping the house to be move-in ready and this was it. They were here. This was their new home.

The pipes creaked and groaned briefly as she turned the faucet to the tub on, but the water ran clean and hot and that was good enough for her. While the tub filled, Emma removed her grimy workshirt and placed a towel by the rim of the bath. As she passed, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the sink and sighed. Her hair was a mess of tangled curls spilling out from her low ponytail and there were small flecks of blue paint still hidden in their blonde waves. Her cheeks still bore the flush of the day's exertion along with smudges of dirt and grime and her green eyes were framed by dark tired circles.

She frowned. _Oh god, what a wreck!_ She pulled at the elastic holding her hair back until it came free, spilling her locks down her back. She gently massaged the back of her head with her fingertips and nearly moaned from the relief it brought. Remembering suddenly that the water was still pouring into the tub behind her, she turned and checked it before quickly shimmying out of her jeans and underwear and removing her bra.

Before she stepped into the much needed recess of the tub, she added a capful of vanilla and lavender scented bath oils, the smell soothing and relaxing her. As she lowered herself down, she couldn't hold back the moan this time when the warmth of the water began to seep into her aching muscles.

Taking her time, she remained in the bath until long after the water had cooled and the bubbles long faded. She washed her hair thoroughly under the faucet as she felt the week's worth of dust and spider webs and paint and mold cleansed from her skin. _I could definitely get used to this,_ she thought ruefully.

Wrapping a towel around her hair and body, she drained the tub and returned to the mirror to begin her nightly routine. Suddenly, a strong, icy breeze blew down her neck causing her entire body to shiver painfully and the hairs on her arms and neck to raise. She glanced around for the source, but the nearest windows were the three porthole shaped ones over the tub and they were nowhere near where she was standing. _Great, I thought the siding was in good condition. I just hope there's not a hole in the roof or something. I'm not sure if I could swing that._ Just as she was beginning to dismiss it as an anomaly, the lights above the mirror began to flicker, and something about the way they dimmed and brightened set her skin crawling. _Okay, Regina did say the wiring might need updating. Right?_

Then she saw it. Just a shadow in the mirrors reflection, but it was large and hovering just feet behind her, near the tub she had just exited. She spun on her heal to face it but nothing was there. Suddenly, one of the bulbs in the lights blew, giving the room the feel of a dimly lit prison cell.

She swallowed hard and tried (and failed) not to panic. _That was nothing,_ she told herself. _Just bad wiring and a hole in the siding, remember. All old houses had their quirks. Nothing to worry about._

That still didn't explain the shadow. The very human-shaped shadow.

Which now was in the hallway. Just outside her bedroom. Her bedroom where her son was sleeping.

Shit.

It was like someone had punched her in the face. The fear of the unknown turned sickeningly into horror until all of her old instincts honed from years of living in daily uncertainty came flooding back and all of it – all the panic and terror – gave way to one overriding emotion: anger.

"HEY! Get the hell away from my son!" She had no idea what she was shouting to, if it was a shadow or a ghost or whatever, but she would be damned if it got anywhere near Henry. And for some reason, the shadow in the hall wavered briefly, as if it understood her. As if she commanded its full attention.

"That's right, you heard me! You get the hell away from him. I don't care what you want with us, but I will not let you near my son!" Her voice cracked, not with fear, but with the passion of a truly pissed off mother.

And then, suddenly, the shadow winked out of existence. _Huh,_ she mused as her chest heaved and her heart pounded. _I can't believe that worked._

Or, maybe it didn't. The one remaining bathroom light began to flicker again, and she felt the cold breeze upon her still naked arms and neck once more. Only this time, it didn't stop. It kept getting colder. Like a block of ice sliding down her spine.

"What do you want?" She asked as loud as she could without waking Henry and plunging him into this nightmare. "You want us to leave?" The lights stopped. The breeze stopped. But her anger didn't.

It wanted her out? Well, _fuck that._ "No. Way. This is my house! Mine. I will not leave. So, you do want you want." She crossed her arms across the towel in defiance and scanned the room for the shadow, seeing nothing. "You flick the lights and do the little cold spot thing, but you aren't going to scare me away. This place is mine." A pause, a beat. Silence the only answer. But the room still felt heavy with some sort of presence. _Mine too_ , it seemed to say. "Fine, you wanna stay here? I get that. So I'll make you a deal. You can haunt me all you like for now, but you leave my son alone. I will not have him screaming and having nightmares the rest of his life because some fucking shadow monster has an itch to scratch. You leave him alone and maybe, just maybe, we can all live peacefully together." At this point, she really had no idea what she was even saying. The anger was taking over and it was doing that thing where words tumbled out before her brain could even process them. She took a long, steadying breath, quickly reviewed what she had said and decided to throw in one last threat. _Go for broke, Emma, your apparently getting haunted either way. Smooth move back there._

"But I promise you this, whoever, _whatever_ you are. You go after my son…he so much as mentions seeing anything strange… I will track down every priest, shaman, _fucking witch doctor_ on earth until I find a way to send you to the furthest reaches of Hell!"

She huffed out a last breath and could feel the shudder of the adrenalin as it coursed through her body. The bathroom had remained eerily silent and no sign of the shadow figure had returned. For a brief moment, she truly began to believe she had completely overreacted to nothing and had just lost her mind for a minute.

Until she heard it. A low, deep, rumbling laugh. A man's laugh, full of arrogance and unspoken menace. And something else…something, if she wasn't mistaken, that sounded like genuine amusement.

Her skin and bones solidified into marble at the sound. And in the very next moment, a breathy, accented voice from nowhere whispered into her ear, "As you wish, milady."

_Oh god, she was in trouble now._


	3. Torment

_Okay, so maybe threatening a ghost wasn't the best idea,_ Emma thought as she gripped her hair in frustration for the hundredth time that week. "You know," she said to the air, completely unworried about the fact that talking to herself was now a common occurrence for her, "when I made this agreement, I didn't think you'd take it to this extreme."

…

_Earlier that week_

How she had managed to sleep that night after the encounter in the bathroom, Emma wasn't entirely certain. All she knew was that by the time dawn arrived, a pale pink shade that lit up the balcony window, she was fairly certain she had hallucinated the whole thing.

_You were just exhausted and tired and stressed. So you saw a shadow. Maybe. No big deal. And that laugh was totally in your head._

_Right, Emma?_

Yeah. Right.

Henry stirred awake beside her not long after and he greeted her with a bright, sunny smile completely obliterating any lingering fears. "Hey, kid. You ready for your first day at your new school?"

His wide, warm eyes blinked heavily. Clearly he was not yet awake. She nuzzled her nose into his hair and picked him up from the bed. "C'mon, sleepyhead. How 'bout some breakfast?"

On the word 'breakfast', Henry's whole posture changed. "Pancakes?" He asked with the slightest bit of a hopeful pout. How could she ever deny this kid anything?

She sighed dramatically. "I suppose. It's not every day that you start a new school. I guess that calls for pancakes."

"Choco-chip pancakes?" The pout was gradually turning to a smile and she knew he knew exactly how to push her buttons.

Narrowing her eyes, she pretend to be annoyed. "Really? You think your special enough for chocolate chip pancakes? What are you, a prince?"

"Yes. Pwince Henwy," he nodded, puffing out his chest like he was born to it. "I demand choco-chips!"

Unable to keep the laughter in, she pinched his cheeks and set him down on the floor. "Okay, your highness, but I think we need to work on your manners."

The rest of the morning passed in complete normalcy and by the time she finished dropping Henry off at the preschool, she was convinced that last night was nothing more than a vivid hallucination, probably caused by falling asleep in the bathtub.

Therefore, she was completely caught off guard when she returned to the house only to find herself locked out.

"What the…?" She tried the key again, wondering if maybe she had picked up the wrong set by mistake and then slightly worried about how she would actually get inside if she had indeed left her key in there. Then it registered that the key she was using was actually turning in the lock, but the door itself was frozen in place. Furrowing her brow, she put a shoulder to the door and turned the handle, expecting the jam to unstick itself and the door to fly open.

Only it didn't. She pushed again, harder this time, grunting with the exertion. "Come on you b-" She yelped as the door flew forward suddenly taking her with it and causing her to face plant onto the foyer floor. Smacking the ground with her hands in frustration, she shook off the pain in her knees and forehead and jumped up quickly. "Fuck!" She screamed in frustration, breath coming in heavy pants.

 _Add that to the list of things I need to fix in this house_ , she thought cooly.

Then, like something cold and slimy crawling over the bare skin of her arms, she heard it. That laugh. Her mouth ran dry as she scanned the living room for his presence. She could sense it, kind of like a pressure across her chest and shoulders, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Anger began to flood over her. "Yeah, keep laughing, buddy. We'll see what's so funny when I exorcise your ass."

It was the exact wrong thing to say. Behind her, the door slammed shut with such force the floor shook.

Somewhere near her left side, she heard him roar, his voice deep and throaty, "We had an agreement!"

Damn. Their deal. She had almost forgotten what she had said. No getting rid of him and in exchange, he would leave her son completely alone. Unlike what he could do to her. Maybe she needed to renegotiate.

With the ghost.

The invisible ghost who was now, apparently, very pissed off at her.

Damn.

"Um, yeah. We did. You're right. We did have a deal," she offered. Stepping farther into the room and raising her neck defiantly, she countered. "But really, how is it fair?"

A dark chuckle from behind was her only answer.

She pressed on. "You get to torment me as much as you want? I told you I'm not leaving, so why do it? Are you just that cruel and spiteful?" She knew she was trying to push his buttons, but she needed to have some idea what she was dealing with.

"You know nothing of cruelty, lass." His whispered answer drifted across the exposed skin of her sleeveless top, making her shudder. Then, suddenly, that pressure in her chest was gone and she could breathe normally again. She knew without asking that he was gone. Collapsing into the nearest chair, she closed her eyes and replayed all that had just occurred. His parting words didn't feel like a threat, more like a statement of fact. She had sensed a well of deep emotion behind it, and it made her fiercely curious, but strangely enough, not afraid.

She really needed to find out just who this ghost was so she would have some idea what to work with. Recalling that Regina, the realtor, had told her a bit about the history, but Emma knew she wasn't about to go to her for the answers she needed. She did not need that lady's I-told-you-so's , especially after Emma had so adamantly insisted that she knew what she was getting herself into.

So what did that leave? She guessed that Regina had dug up the history of the house at the public library, so Emma quickly made the decision to head into town right after lunch.

…

The Storybrooke library was a small place, covered in old clapboard siding, but Emma especially liked the clock tower perched above. It reminded her how quaint and sweet the whole town was. She caught the door, just as an elderly couple were exiting and she nodded to them in greeting before entering.

A petite dark-haired woman sat behind a long wooden desk, methodically shuffling papers into piles. As Emma approached, she looked up at her with kind blue eyes and smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Um," Emma said nervously, fiddling with the edge of her light jacket, "I'm looking into the history of a house I just bought, and I'm wondering if you could help me."

The woman's eyes lit up. "Let me guess…you're the one who bought Misthaven Cottage?"

Emma frowned. "Is it that obvious?"

The lady chuckled politely. "Not really, but it's a small town and word gets around fast. Not a lot of people move here. And Misthaven's got a reputation."

"So I've heard," Emma mumbled.

"I'm Belle," the lady offered. "I'm the librarian here and I have a feeling I can help you find what you're looking for."

For the first time that day, Emma felt the smallest bit of relief. "I'm Emma," she replied. "Swan. Thank you so much for your help."

Belle pursed her lips into a genuinely touched smile. "It's no problem at all."

Within minutes, Belle had located the appropriate news articles and town records surrounding Misthaven Cottage and placed them in front of her on the small table. With her help, Emma quickly surmised that the builder of her house was named William Smee. An obituary dated from the 1920's stated that William 'Bill' Smee was a life-long bachelor, who made a fortune in collecting and selling rare antiques, specifically those related to sailing and boats, and that his home, Misthaven Cottage, was the culmination of years of designing and planning and, also apparently, salvaging. Specifically, salvaging of a quite famous pirate ship, the HMS Jolly Roger, which old Bill had a fascination with as a boy. Old Bill also was well-liked and respected by all and he died peacefully in his sleep (though thankfully not at the house) at the ripe old age of 92.

Emma sighed and bit her lower lip in frustration. It didn't sound at all like the backstory of her ghost. Other than not wanting to leave his beloved home, she couldn't imagine a reason why Bill Smee would stick around to haunt and scare people for all eternity. Or the level of anger she sensed from him. It just didn't feel right to her.

Another book of records through the 1970's had a list of every owner of the cottage since Bill Smee's death, and as Regina had said, none ever seemed to last long at the house. There were no tragic murders, no suicides, nothing that struck her as a typical reason to remain haunting her place.

Emma rolled her head back with a groan of frustration and noticed Belle was nearby stacking some books on shelves. "Excuse me, Belle," she called lightly.

The petite woman placed the last book and moved over to the table Emma sat at. "Yes? Did you find what you were looking for, Emma?"

"No. I mean, I found out about who built the house, but I still feel like I need to know more about the history of the place." Emma carefully stacked up the books Belle had provided and pushed them back towards the librarian. "Is there somewhere else I could go or maybe someone else in town knows about it?"

Belle closed her eyes in silent contemplation. "Well," she answered slowly, opening her eyes and focusing on the ceiling, "you could try the sisters at the church. They have pretty detailed records about the town. There's the County Record's Office, but all the older records are in the books I just gave you." She pushed a pencil into her mass of dark curls, looked at Emma, and pursed her lip. "Um, you might try Marco."

"Who's that?"

"Marco's one of the oldest residents in town. Lives out at the edge of the forest. I guess he's kind of the unofficial town historian. But he might have a story or two for you." Belle placed a hand on Emma's arm. "Wait here, I'll get you an address."

…

After she had gotten the address from Belle and after she had offered Belle her profound thanks, Emma found herself wandering around the streets of the little village. It was a warm spring day and Emma planned on taking full advantage of it. Even though she had officially been a resident of Storybrooke for a little over week, she hadn't really gotten much of a chance to explore the town yet. There were still several hours before she would need to pick Henry up from school, and at the very least, some more shopping needing to get done.

And, as loathed as she was to admit it, she was nervous to go back to the house alone. Oddly enough, she didn't worry about having Henry at the house. She knew instinctively her ghost would honor his end of the deal and leave Henry out of it. However, that didn't make her worry about what might happen when she was by herself any better.

Choosing to ignore the prickle of nerves and fluttering stomach, Emma forced her focus back onto the town. Storybrooke was such a different place than where she came from. Even though she had been moved frequently as a child, she had never ended up in a town quite like this. Everyone she met was friendly, the town seemed amazingly alive, and there just seemed to be an atmosphere of peace and tranquility constantly blanketing it.

And for a little while, Emma managed to find peace.

….

_"Emma!" Mary Margaret cried. "Why would you do this?"_

_Emma pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, thankful that her mother-in-law couldn't see her roll her eyes over the phone. "Because I need to," was the only answer she could offer._

_"Did we do something to make you mad?"_

_Emma couldn't stop the frustrated sigh from escaping. "No, of course not. You and David have always been the absolute best. Really. But this move is about doing what's right for me and Henry. We need this. We need a chance to start over without Neal's memory hanging over our heads."_

_"Emma, are you sure you aren't just running from the pain. I know what happened to Neal hurt you, it hurt us, too, but is this really the best way?"_

_"What happened to Neal? Like it was an accident?" She wasn't able to keep the bitterness from her voice any longer, and she could feel the words she had carefully avoided saying to Neal's parents for the better part of year slipping out of her mouth like vomit. She needed to stop, needed to get control, but was finding it too hard. "Mary Margaret, you know how much I love you and David, but he's gone because of his choices. So, yes, I'm sure about this." Emma stated firmly, no hesitation in her voice._

_True, Mary Margaret did have a point. Emma was the queen of running from her problems. But that was not what this was. This wasn't running from her life, this was running towards something. "Please understand, I'm not trying to hurt you. This isn't about you at all. I am doing this because I need to start living my life and Henry needs a place where he won't constantly be reminded of the absence of his father." She could hear the sobs of the other lady finally slowing down for the first time since the phone call had begun._

_"Oh, Emma. I do understand. You…you've never really had a chance, I know. I know how badly you wanted to be a good mother for Henry, and you are, Emma, you really are. But I could tell that things with you and Neal weren't always the fairy-tale romance I wanted for you both. I guess… I guess I just didn't want to see Neal for who he really was until it was too late." Mary Margaret let out a feel quick sniffles, but at least the full-on wails had stopped._

_"I..." Emma began, entirely lost as to how to comfort her mother-in-law, "Look, I'm moving to Storybrooke because it's a nice town that will be a good place for Henry, but also because it's not so far away that you can't come and visit or that I can't bring Henry by on the weekends. I'm not trying to take your grandson away."_

_There was dead air for a full minute before Mary Margaret's timid voice answered. "Thank you, Emma. I'm grateful for that. We're both grateful."_

_"I know losing Neal was hard on you, David especially. I guess I should have let you know I was planning to move before I just went and put an offer down. I'm sorry. Really. I never thought about how it would affect you."_

_"Emma," Mary Margaret sighed. "Just…. We want you to be happy. You deserve that. If you can find happiness in Storybrooke, then I promise you that David and I will support your decision one hundred percent."_

_Suddenly finding herself unable to reply, Emma merely choked out a weak, "Thank you," before promising to call soon and hanging up._

_It had been years since the Cassidy's had welcomed her into their home as a daughter, but she had never felt like she was as cared for and loved as she did in that moment._

_….._

Three days now. Three days and she wandered exactly where all those feelings of peace disappeared to. _Oh, that's right. They were overshadowed by a stupid ghost who thinks it's the height of humor to move all my stuff around._

She groaned as she exited the bathroom, slipping on her boots, and dreading what she would find downstairs today. Yesterday, every time she left the room, the ghost would remove all the items from the drawers, cabinets, or bookshelves and place them in the exact center of the room. How the hell was she supposed to finish unpacking and setting up the house when she had to keep redoing all her work. She felt like screaming. Instead, she chose to focus her anger on tackling the bigger projects like moving the furniture into place and cleaning years and years and years worth of dust and dirt from the corners. Truthfully, it would have been a stressful job just by itself, but with her 'invisible guest' lingering about, it was damn near killing her.

Today, she really expected no different. She had chosen to take a day off from the cleaning inside to explore the outside property, but the mass of storm clouds on the horizon told her that probably wasn't going to happen. She owed Mary Margaret and David a phone call, but she wasn't really in the mood to talk. Besides, they had plans to come and visit on Saturday anyway and she could tell them all about the progress she's made on the house then.

Looking around the banister, she didn't notice any piles of objects in her living room. All the books and odds and ends were still in their places on the bookshelves. She let herself relax. Maybe the ghost was finally done with his little games.

Feeling hungry for lunch, she headed off to the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the gathering pile of bills on the hall console. That was a headache for some other day, hopefully far off in the future. Mentally reminding herself to have a talk with her in-laws about the state of her late husband's case, she pushed open the kitchen door.

And stopped dead in her tracks.

_Seriously?_

Apparently, her ghost had a sense of humor. In the middle of the kitchen floor, the six dining chairs were stacked precariously end to end, almost touching the ceiling. It looked just like a Jenga game right before someone pulls the piece that causes the whole thing to topple. Honestly, she didn't know which chair she could touch without the whole tower collapsing. She peered through the spindled construct to see that her pots and pans were also scattered out over the entire length of kitchen counter in a very precise alignment of largest to smallest. _Wow, that must have taken some effort_ , she thought absently.

For a second, she felt sort of impressed by the lengths this ghost was willing to go. That was until she remembered that she would be the one cleaning the mess, not him. Cursing under her breath, she called out to the air. "Ha, ha! Very funny. What were you in your other life, a juggler?"

A cool breeze hit her ear. A whisper of breath spoke in her ear, "Oh, I know all about contortion, love. It was one of my specialties."

_What._

_The._

_Fuck?_

It was so unlike anything else he had said to her, she completely lost her ability to speak. Her mind blanked and all she could manage was wondering if the ghost was hitting on her. This new tone was less angry and gravelly and more like rough silk. Who the hell was this guy? And how was this her life?

Finally finding her voice, she frowned and said, "Sure, pal, whatever. This is just beyond wrong." She shook her head and went to take down the top chair from the leaning tower.

"Uh, uh, love. Wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, this time the voice sounded as if it were directly behind her left ear. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could even feel his breath on the tissue of her neck. It sent a not altogether unpleasant shiver down her spine and she shut that whole area of thought completely down quickly. She fought herself from turning around, knowing from experience that there would be nothing to see there and all she would accomplish was him laughing at her. Again.

What was left of her patience and tolerance vanished immediately.

_Alright! That is it. I'm so done with this guy._

"Screw you," she snapped, feeling her patience wearing far too thin. "All I fucking wanted to do was to have a day off, relax a little and enjoy _my_ house," she grumbled loudly to the empty room as she set about trying to find a way to unlock the chair legs. This ghost had her cursing like a sailor and wanting to punch people in the face and she hadn't felt this level of anger since Neal. So yeah, she was just done. "But noooooo, fucking Casanova decides to play Tetris with the furniture."

A soft chuckle was his reply.

"I fucking hate you!" she called out, deciding just to grab the damn top chair and let the chips (or chairs, in this case) fall where they may.

And fall they did, it a tremendous crash of wood upon wood. "Fuuuuuck,"she groaned, throwing her head back, just knowing that several of those chairs (the kitchen set was a wedding gift from Mary Margaret and David, and how was she going to explain _this_ to them?) were probably splintered into pieces. In her growing frustration, she nearly threw the seat she had in her hand right across the room. If only she had a target she could actually see.

The condescending laughter only got louder.

Closing her eyes and mentally counting to ten, she knew she had to get the mess cleaned before she could go pick up Henry, but her tired mind and body looked at the mess in defeat. "Damn it all!" She screamed. The laughter hadn't stopped and she didn't know how much more of it she could take. "Listen, buddy, but I am sick of this shit! I'm not leaving this house. Got that? So you've broken my furniture. I hope you feel like a big man now. I hope you are really damn proud of yourself. But you are nothing but a fucking bully. And a damn coward. Picking on people who can't even defend themselves. I'm telling you, this ends now. This is my house! I'm going nowhere! Get used to it!"

The laughter was gone, and an eerie silence hung over the room. She could feel that pressure telling her he was still in the room, but she couldn't read his mood at all. He was just as likely to blow up just like last time and increase the attacks as he was to back off. _Shitshitshitshitshit._

"Quite passionate, Swan." The voice said, less breathy and close and more like an actual person. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn it almost sounded impressed.

"Fuck you. Just go away."

He growled low. "No. I belong here as much as you. I have tended my ship for long years before your arrival and I will do so for long years after you depart. I have agreed to you demands about your son, but I will not leave this house."

She blinked in response. It was the most he had ever said, and the quiet seething rage she detected in his voice had her on edge. "Then I guess we're at an impasse, buddy. So maybe we need to find a way to co-habitate, before you destroy everything I own."

He growled again in response, but this time, it held far less menace. The noise faded out, almost as if he was walking away, and the weight of his presence lifted from the room.

_What have I done?_


	4. Connection

With Henry home, the evening passed uneventfully, and for that at least, she was grateful. After the first night, her brave little prince had gone back to sleeping in his own bed and so now Emma was alone in her room, with nothing but her thoughts. This was the first night she actively worried about going to sleep. Would he come back to torment her? Would he break his promise? Would he leave them alone once and for all?

And why couldn't she stop thinking about her ghost? Who was he in life? How did he die? What kind of body might go with a voice like that? _Crap! Where did that thought come from? I must be way more tired than I thought._ She flopped over on the bed and pulled her hands up under the pillow, staring out into the moonlit emptiness of the ocean. _Go to sleep, Emma._

Eventually, in the wee hours of the morning, her mind gave out, and she fell into the heavy slumber of the exhausted. When she awoke, she found to her relief and, oddly enough, frustration that her ghost had not returned. Her mind was groggy and sluggish, unable to make coherent thoughts. She knew she had dreamed heavily, but she couldn't seem to recall a single clear detail. For some reason however, as she stepped out of bed, she expected the floor to sway under her feet. _Huh, that's strange,_ she thought, staring down at her bare feet. _Why does it feel like I fell asleep on a boat?_

Shrugging off her unsettled mind, Emma hurriedly got Henry up and off to school. It was Friday, and the day was a drizzly mess as the clouds from yesterday had finally arrived in the night and had been steadily unloading their payload ever since.

After dropping Henry at the preschool, she drove downtown, wipers oscillating furiously to keep up. Passing by the local diner, the desperate urge for coffee (and anything that kept her from going home to who-knows-what that might be waiting for her) compelled her to brave the weather and go inside.

Granny's Diner was fairly deserted, as the thrumming cadence of rain seemed to be keeping most of Storybrooke's patrons at home. Choosing a booth near the back, Emma placed an order for coffee with the lithe brunette she recognized from the handful of times she had been in there before. Ruby, her name tag read, but Emma was pretty sure she heard several of the male patrons calling her 'Red'. Judging by her skimpy skirt and seductively tight blouse, Emma could only guess how she earned her nickname.

Ruby returned quickly with the coffee and twirled her pen in front of a little pad of paper. "Ready to order?" She asked, as her eyes watched Emma a little too sharply for her comfort.

"Um, I'm not really all that hungry," Emma stated, placing the laminated menu back into the holder. "Just the coffee, I guess." She ran a hand through her tangled, damp hair trying to shake it into something not resembling a drowned rat.

Checking over her shoulder, the waitress slipped the pan and pen into a pocket and slid into the booth opposite Emma without a word.

"Hey!" Emma exclaimed, thrown off guard. "What are you—"

Ruby's crimson lips tilted up wolfishly. "Don't freak out. I just thought you might want some company."

Emma scowled. "No. I'm good. I just want coffee." She gave her a glare that said 'take a hike, lady' in no uncertain terms, as she crossed her arms, emphasizing the point.

Ruby's gaze only sharpened in response and her grin widened. "No offense, hon, but you have the look of someone who needs to talk. Gran usually calls it the '100-yard stare'. It's pretty common around here. Ruby, by the way." She held out her hand and Emma stared at it.

Emma picked up her mug, took a long drink and sat it down precisely where it had come from, taking her time to adjust the angle of the handle so it was back in its original position. "Nice to meet you Ruby, and I appreciate the offer, but I don't really feel like talking. _Just coffee_."

Sighing, Ruby's smile faltered and she shook her head in frustration. "I know you're new here. I know you live way out there on the hill by yourself. I've never seen you talking to anyone else. I was just trying to be friendly. Sorry I bothered you." She shrugged and slipped out of the booth before turning back to the table. "But you know, I've been told I'm a pretty good listener. So, if you ever do decide you want more than _just coffee,_ you know where to find me." She gave Emma a look of understanding, before she quickly returned to her other customers once more.

Emma suddenly felt guilty for her rudeness to a woman who truly was just trying to be nice. Staring out the fat drops of rain running down the window, she huffed in annoyance with herself. _This is why you don't have friends, Emma. You don't trust anyone._

But how could she when people just always let her down?

Resting her forehead on her palm, she absently ran a finger around the rim of the coffee cup. Could she trust Ruby? Yeah, probably, but Emma wasn't sure if she even knew how to reach out.

_Liar. You do too, you're just scared. You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable and you just can't do it._

Emma lifted her gaze towards the waitress in question. Her back was to Emma and she was bent forward, talking with a customer. From what she could see, the old lady was enjoying Ruby's company, and Ruby often gave the woman light, affectionate pats on her arm. _See, she's just friendly to everybody. Remember, this move was all about starting over. About living your damn life, Emma. Go on, take a chance._

When Ruby returned with a pot to top off her cup, Emma steeled herself and said, "Um, Ruby…wait."

The waitress knitted her brow, but stopped trying to move away.

Drawing a breath, Emma pushed forward and said, "I'm sorry. I was really rude to you before. My name's Emma. But I guess you already knew that. Small town, and all."

Ruby nodded and set the pot on the corner of the table. "Yeah. New people in town are pretty much all anybody talks about. That and the weather," she tilted her head to the window and smiled once more.

Emma returned the smile as Ruby sat down. "So, do you think it will rain today?" She quipped.

Ruby's smile widened. "Well, look at you. Makin' jokes. You seem a little better already."

Emma flushed. "Did I really look that bad?"

With a light laugh, Ruby shook her head. "No, not really. Not that anybody would notice. You just kind of looked…lost. But I'm pretty good at reading people. Must be that degree in Psychology I'm wasting."

"You have a Psych degree?" Emma asked, sipping her coffee.

"Yep. Still haven't found a job, yet. Lousy economy. That and my Gran's been sick, so I'm helping her with the diner." Ruby shrugged, flipped over an empty mug on the other side of the table and poured herself some of the liquid from the pot. "Hey, pays the bills, though. Right?"

"Yeah, I hear ya." Emma agreed immediately.

"So, Emma, what brings you to our lovely little village? The fishing? The nightlife? Wait, I know! It was all the shopping." Ruby teased.

And for the first time, Emma felt the knot of dread that had been sitting heavily in her stomach ever since her first encounter with the ghost loosening its hold. "I'm afraid you got me." Emma replied with a laugh. "Boston's shopping district has got nothing on Storybrooke."

There was a momentary pause before Ruby spoke. "So, Boston. That where you're from?" She sipped at her drink and gave Emma an open look.

Swallowing back the panic that always came with talking about her past, Emma nodded, but couldn't bring herself to elaborate. Luckily, Ruby seemed to sense that something was off and didn't push. Instead, she tried changing the subject. "So, do you like Misthaven Cottage? That's where you're living, right? It's always been such a mysterious place. Had a reputation, you know. Actually, when I was a kid, I snuck in there with a group of friends on a dare. We were supposed to stay all night, but I chickened out and ran away after like 15 minutes. But I remember it was kind of nice in there." She mumbled into her cup.

Feeling the pounding thud of her heartbeat, Emma forced her face to remain neutral. "No, I mean...Yeah, I love the house. And it is nice. The view of the ocean is just breathtaking."

Looking up briefly, Ruby fixed her with a pointed look. "C'mon Em, I'm sensing a 'but' in there somewhere," she prodded.

"No 'buts'. I mean, there's a lot of work to be done, but the house is amazing." And it was. Truly. She loved her house. Her home. That's why that damn ghost was so freaking infuriating.

"So, it's not haunted, then?" Ruby's eyes sharpened on her.

Emma took a deep, steady breath and forced a smile. "Nope. Not at all. I have no idea where that rumor must have come from."

Narrowing her gaze, Ruby nodded. "Yeah, well, rumors tend to spread pretty fast in a town like this. It doesn't take much to get them started."

Suddenly, a voice called out for her from across the diner. "Shit!" Ruby exclaimed quietly. "I almost forgot I was working!" She scrambled out of the booth, taking the coffee pot with her. "Hey, Em, really good to meet you. Glad you decided to talk to me. I can tell it helped."

Reluctantly, Emma agreed. She actually did feel better. "Yeah, it did. Thanks."

With a soft, genuine smile, Ruby replied, "Anytime. Like I said."

…

As Emma left the diner, she ducked into her Beetle and closed her eyes. Maybe it was all the coffee, but she felt as if her thoughts were coming easier to her. She replayed her conversation with Ruby a couple of times, but still felt justified in lying to her about the ghost. After all, who would believe her? She could barely believe it herself. Thinking about him, made her drift back to what happened yesterday as well. Details from her conversation with the man kept playing through her mind, until she was struck by a word he had used. 'I have tended my ship,' he had said. _Ship_. Not _house_.

Suddenly her mind was a flurry of dawning realization.

Practically sprinting from her car, she dodged the worst of the puddles, but still arrived at the library soaking wet. Taking a moment to shake the water out of her jacket, she scanned the shelves for the petite librarian.

Just as she had finished wiping down her wet pant legs, she saw Belle approach her desk. "Emma! You're back. Having any luck on the history of your house? Were you able to find Marco?"

 _Shit, Marco_. She had forgotten about that. "Um, I haven't gotten the chance to speak with him yet. But I was remembering something I read about Misthaven the other day, and I was wondering if you could help me out?"

"Sure, anything," Belle answered merrily.

Emma pulled out the sodden strands of her long blonde hair from under her jacket and leaned against the desk, trying not to drip on the papers. Thankfully, Belle seemed oblivious. "I want to find information about the HMS Jolly Roger. It was a ship whose wood was used to build the house."

Belle beamed. "Ooh! How interesting! I always thought that house had a unique design. Have you tried the internet?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't have it set up at the house yet. They won't be there until next week."

Belle frowned at the news. "Unfortunately, we only have the one computer here for public use, and Leroy has it booked for the next couple hours." She adjusted the collar of her polka-dotted shirt and offered Emma a small smile. "I'll see what I can dig up, but it might take a while, though. Can you come back tomorrow?"

Tomorrow? She'd have to wait another day? Emma bit her bottom lip but nodded. "Sure. Thanks, Belle."

Leaving the library, Emma felt all her previous fears returning. She was at loss of what to do. It was far too wet and nasty to try finding this Marco guy, and she couldn't hang out in the diner or the library all day. That left one option. Going back home.

_Suck it up, Swan. You're not going to let some undead jackass push you around, are you?_

….

_"Emma Swan has a big nose and smelly feet. I bet she wets the bed, too!"_

_"Yeah. I bet she cries herself to sleep because she doesn't have a mommy and daddy."_

_"I bet they left her because she wets the bed!"_

_A peal of uproarious laughter cut off the barbs._

_Emma stood shivering in the corner of the group home, staring at the gaggle of preteen girls surrounding her, wishing with all her might that she could just disappear. She had fought back the tears with a valiant effort until the last jab about her parents leaving. It was too much, and she couldn't seem to stop the wetness from springing to her eyes. She knew if those girls saw her crying they would only keep twisting the knife in. But she couldn't stop it, not this time. The pain was just too great. Her heart stung with the truth of their words._

_"Look, Misty, she's bawlin' like a baby. A stupid, little baby."_

_"Gonna cry, Swan? Who you gonna cry to? Your mom?" This was followed by cruel laughter and a punch on the arm._

_"Nobody cares, Swan. Nobody. You're alone because everyone hates you. So get over it."_

_It was hours before the house mother could calm Emma down, and days before they could get her to speak. Her only bright spot came from the fact that with a week, they had once again found her a new foster home. It was the only time she was ever happy to go. And as she left, sparing not a single glance back, she made a promise to herself never to let anyone see her cry. Never again.  
_

_…_ …..

Cautiously maneuvering the Beetle up the slick incline to the cottage, Emma felt a twinge of unease settle upon her. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of disaster she might be coming back to this time. As she parked, she took a moment to mentally brace herself before shutting off the engine and running for the porch. Upon entering the front door, she took a careful look around her living room. Nothing was out of place, all the items exactly where she left them, and the house was still. However, she remembered all too well what happened the last time she thought the ghost was gone, so she stepped through to the kitchen.

Nothing. All was well.

Could he be gone? It was almost too good to be true. Coughing a little to clear her throat, she called out a tentative, "Hello?" into the room. There was no reply.

She shivered, telling herself it was only because her still-wet hair had found its way back under her jacket and water was running down her back. Looking around at her semi-clean kitchen once more, she noticed the pressure that accompanied his presence was absent, meaning only one thing. He really had left her alone. So she proceeded to go upstairs. Halfway up, she called out again, only to be answered once more with nothing but the steady drum of rain.

 _Maybe he's given up after all._ Suddenly, she was struck by an immense feeling of sadness at that thought. Chiding herself for the stupidity of that feeling, she continued to the landing. _You want him gone, Emma. He's a pain in the ass and you know it._

Crossing the landing quickly to the bathroom, she dried off her hair and shrugged out of her wet clothes. As she stepped back out in only her underwear, it dawned on her for the first time that the man, ghost, _whatever_ , had probably seen her naked the other night. Was he watching her now? She could feel the burn of embarrassment flood her cheeks as she slid into her bedroom securing the door behind her.

She shook her head at her own actions. _He's a ghost, Emma. He's dead. That means no body. He probably can walk through walls. Besides, it's not like he cares about seeing you naked. Besides, why are you even thinking about this?_

_Why was she thinking about this?_

_Who cares anyway? He's gone…maybe._

It took her only minutes to slip into a pair of yoga pants and a cozy sweatshirt. She opted to pull her now very unruly hair into a loose messy bun, as she studied the pattern of rainfall on the ocean through her balcony window. It was mesmerizing. The way the sheets of water hit the cresting waves below in the most random patterns. It was so calming and peaceful to watch. She wandered what it would feel like to on a ship in this weather, being tossed about with the rise and fall of each swell.

Turning with a wistful half-smile, she studied the boxes tucked in the corner of her room. Now that she had time, and her ghost wasn't disrupting her unpacking, she really should be putting things away and setting up the bedroom to her liking. Instead she found herself feeling restless and bored. It was like she needed an adventure, especially after the reminder at the diner to try living her life for once.

Chewing on her bottom lip, it took her a little while to figure out what to do. Then, she remembered the little door behind the bathroom she had seen the day she first viewed the house. Until now, she had completely forgotten about its existence. Smiling to herself and feeling just a bit like a little kid again, she set of in search of flashlight and the set of skeleton keys she had been given by Regina.

Soon enough, she found herself standing in front of the short door, fighting against the warring emotions of excitement and fear in her chest. At last, she told reminded herself that the worst that could happen was that she saw a ghost and she nearly burst into laughter at the thought.

It took a small bit of effort to unlock at pull open the door. Obviously, it hadn't been used in quite a long time and the cobwebs and dark emptiness gave her pause. Then, she raised her flashlight and saw a set of wooden stairs leading up to what should have been far more obvious to her before: the attic.

_Duh, Emma, you've seen the little window from the outside, how did you not realize there must have been an attic here?_

She retrieved a broom that she had left in the hallway from the broken lamp and cleared out the cobwebs as best as she could. Using the flashlight, she took a few cautious steps up the stairs and deemed them quite safe.

The stairs opened to a large room spanning the entire width of the house. It was chilly up here, and the pounding of the rain upon the roof was so loud, it cancelled the throbbing pulse of her own heart in her ears. Locating an ancient light switch, she twisted the knob, as a couple of dim bulbs flared to life overhead, barely illuminating the space.

She had expected the place to be empty, but surprisingly there was a good deal of stuff scattered about all over the dusty wooden floor. Curiosity got the better of her and before she could stop herself, she was busy shifting through piles of all types of items. Quite a good deal of it seemed related to ships. Up along one wall, a giant wooden wheel rested, and old steamer trunks guarded what looked like tied up drop clothes. Upon closer inspection, Emma realized that these were actually old sails. A large, black painted board that looked like it had seen a long time in the water was propped up against an overturned table and another wooden trunk. She turned it over and shone her light upon it. In faded, but unmistakable letters, she could just make out the words 'HMS Jolly Roger'.

It dawned on her suddenly what all this stuff was. It was the rest of the ship that had been salvaged to build the house. The hand still holding the flashlight trembled in excitement, and she wondered if this was what archeologists felt like when they unearthed a ancient civilization.

The wavering light caught against something shiny and the gleam drew her eye. Tucked in a dark recess, she noticed an large, antique gold-plated picture frame. For an unknown reason her heart lept in her chest as she found her feet moving towards it. Swallowing thickly, she hunched down and put her hand on it turning the heavy frame around.

And then she forgot how to breathe.

The first thing she noticed was his eyes. So piecing and blue it was impossible to look away. Especially set into such a face of such dark countenance. The portrait seemed to have captured the man's stormy mood at some moment of deep inner reflection. _How was it possible to connect with someone merely by seeing a portrait? How, with only one look, was she able to recognize the loneliness in the man's eyes? Why did it make her feel like crying?_ Without conscious thought, she brought her hand up to stroke the man's cheek.

"Quite the handsome devil, aren't I?" A rich-toned, familiar voice called out.

She jumped so violently, she nearly toppled the painting over in her attempt to turn around. But as she did, the sight of him _right there_ in front of her caused her legs to give out and she collapsed on her ass in an ungraceful pile.

He chuckled in amusement at her and leaned down over her. "Well, Swan, although I've swept many a lass off their feet before, I've never done it quite so literally until now."

She knew she was gaping at him like a fish out of water, but how could she not? It was the first time she had seen him and the portrait clearly did not do the man justice.

Dark disheveled hair hung over a arching brow, as those damn memorizing blue eyes of his stared hard into her soul. From the black haired scruff gracing his angled chin, to the strong cheekbones, to the glint of white in his wicked smile, even to the dark navy of his greatcoat and vest, everything about him screamed DANGER!

He was like some great Bronte novel brought to life, and all she could do was say, "You bastard!"

He switched to his other eye brow as he tilted towards her. The smile widened and with it, Emma's anger grew. "How's that, love?"

"You scared the life out of me!" She accused vehemently.

The laughter returned, but this time, it seemed genuine, not so mocking. "I do believe, Swan, that that was the point. Ghost, remember?"

She wondered if she tried punching him if he would feel it or if her hand would just pass right through his face. She opted not to try the theory out. Yet. Shakily, she regained her feet and pushed herself up, swiping at her pants in an attempt to remove the dust that was covering them. Without meeting his eye, she mumbled something like "sarcastic asshole ghosts."

When she finished, she looked up to see that he still hadn't moved, his right thumb hooked in a pocket on his vest as he watched her with great interest, the blue of his eyes piercing the shadows and going right to her soul.

She huffed at him and threw her hands on her hips. "What?"

His teeth flashed white, as he replied, "Nothing. You've gone and gotten yourself quite _filthy_ haven't you, Swan?"

 _Right. So I didn't make up that bit about the innuendo. Still..._ "Look, buddy, I don't know or care what you think about me, but the lewd comments from a dead guy are just seriously wrong."

Even in the low light she could see him roll his tongue against the side of his mouth as he tilted his head at her. "I may be deceased, love, but I assure you I am still a man. And you, Swan, have nothing to be ashamed about."

"Ew. Gross." She made a sick face at him. "Wait! Have you been spying on me? Cause that is so not cool, buddy."

"Firstly, the name is not 'buddy'," he continued, puffing up his chest (his very noticeably hairy chest which was peeking through the unbuttoned part of his black shirt) in pride. "You may address me as Captain Killian Jones." And before she could blink he was twirling his right hand, throwing out a leg and bowing to her in the most ridiculously dramatic fashion.

"How 'bout I address you as Captain Pain-in-the-Ass?" She said before she could stop herself.

He stood back up sharply and cocked his head, like he was insulted, and she felt his gaze shift from playful to sharp and focused in the blink of an eye. Quicker than she had thought possible he was standing right in front of her, pinning her with his icy blue glare, like she was an interesting species of insect. That pressure she felt bodily in his presence was magnified ten-fold. Coupled with his very close proximity, it very made all the alarms in her head go off at once. _Run, Danger! Get out now!_ Instead, she chose to lift her chin and glare right back at him.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward at the gesture. "You know, most people might take your attitude as off-putting. But fortunately for you, Swan, I like a challenge."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She scowled at him.

"Well, love, you're something of an open book, aren't you?" He pulled back slightly and Emma felt as if the air had been returned to the room. "I mean, the defiance, the fierce need to claim your independence, some see that as bravery, but..."

"And you don't?" She cut in. "Why? Because you don't like the idea of a woman who take care of herself?"

His mouth twitched again, but his eyes had lost their anger. This time, the bastard actually bit his bottom lip. "Oh, Swan, I greatly admire a woman who knows how to take charge. Who knows what she wants and goes after it. But that is not what I'm talking about."

_How did the conversation get so out of hand? Why was she even standing here talking to a ghost anyway?_

"Really?" She was still considering running, but he was blocking the exit to the stairway and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of trying (and probably failing) to push him away.

"Yes, love, really." Taking a full step away from her, his eyes darted to the stairway, as if reading her mind. Then he moved aside, silently offering her the chance to go.

And, boy, did she want take the out. To run. It was her default move. And it would be so easy. But something about his assessment of her kept her from it. She was angry at him, yes, but also curious as to what he might say. So she took a small step forward, towards him, away from the easy escape. _Challenge accepted, buddy._ "Then, what do you mean?" She asked meeting his penetrating stare with her own.

His brow twitched before he turned and paced the floor. Feeling like she won some sort of battle, she smirked at him. He stopped pacing and looked up. "It's just that I know that look in your eye. And I know that your attitude is just a front. A front to keep people out, to keep them from getting to know the real you. Because you are afraid."

"Are you telling me that I'm a coward? And what look in my eye? There's no look in my eye." _Seriously, did she just have some sort of neon sign glowing over her head today?_ She crossed her arm and dared him to call her out.

With an almost apologetic shake of his head, he answered her softly, once more stepping just a little too close. "Ah, love. You do have a look. Not just loss and pain, although they are present as well. No, you have the look of betrayal. The kind of betrayal that mars your soul. Trust me, lass, I know it all too well." He cleared his throat, not meeting her eye for the first time. "And no, I don't believe you are a coward for trying to run from the pain of heartache. Not at all. In fact, I find you to be a most extraordinarily brave lass." He looked up sharply and added, "But I do think you are a terrible liar."

And with that cryptic bit of wisdom, he simply vanished from sight, winking out as if he was never there.

Stunned and seething with anger, it was a full minute before she could move any part of her body again. And when she did, she did precisely what she told herself not to do: she ran.


	5. Resurrection

By the time the Swan woman returned home that afternoon with her son, something quite strange had happened to Captain Killian Jones. He had spent more years stuck in this half-life purgatory than he cared to count taking his fury out on all those who dared to cross him. And nothing ever changed. Not his rage or his pain or his drive for vengeance. None of it.

And yet…

There was something intriguing about the Swan woman. It bothered him in a way that was entirely infuriating. Of course, she was beautiful, and had he been a man of flesh and blood, he no doubt would have pursued her relentlessly. But there was more to her than her golden hair, her sparkling emerald eyes, and her exquisitely formed figure. And it was slowly driving him insane.

For the better part of two and a half centuries, his existence had been spent in shadow, neither affected by the day or night, hot or cold. Time seemed to pass as if years were days. After his death, for many years, he had drifted upon the seas, his soul tethered to that of his ship. And for a while, he was content with that, satisfied with his placement in the afterlife. But he should have known better. Eventually, his ship sustained damage in the War of Independence and was decommissioned and dry-docked. The solitude of being alone for just over a century was enough to nearly drive him mad. However, it wasn't until that fool of a man, Smee, had to go and salvage his ship to build this blasted house, that he knew he was forever tied down to the land.

He had been so wrong. This wasn't purgatory. This was hell.

Possibly fate had seen fit to leave him here because of his actions after his death which blackened his soul. At first, his purpose was clear: payback for Milah's betrayal, justice for his unfair execution at the hands of the cruel, corrupt man who called himself her husband. But he was stuck fast to his ship, unable to seek them out so that they might feel the full weight of his wrath. So, left with little recourse to seek his revenge, he took it out his fury upon anyone and everyone he could.

First, it was the sailors who dared to try and claim his ship as theirs. And the Royal Navy, it seemed, never tired of sending fresh meat his way. Before his death, they had accused him of being a pirate, so a pirate is what he became. In his madness, he took to calling himself Captain Hook, adopting a tactic to scare away even the heartiest of seaman by running a hook down the sails and across the deck to frighten them on their watches. Oh how he would laugh at their faces!

When he awoke after the dismantling of his ship, and found himself trapped in a house, it wasn't long before he picked up where he left off. The hook had been lost long ago, but the intent had never changed. Protect his ship, spend his remaining years drenched in his pain and misery, the only respite that of making people fear him.

He had anticipated the Swan woman to be no different than all the other fainting ladies he had come across, but from the start, she had proven to have a backbone made of steel. And for that alone, Killian Jones yielded to her demands. As the days passed, he watched her in silent and invisible contemplation trying to figure out what it was about her that made her tick.

Until their meeting in the attic.

She had been moved by his portrait. He could still recall the look upon her face, the way she softly reached up to touch his cheek. That was not the actions of someone who was indifferent. It was one lost soul recognizing another. And a part of him wanted to hate her for it. He had spent so long trapped by his own anger that he wasn't sure how to feel anything different.

She made him want to feel something different.

Had he still a body, he would have said she had gotten under his skin. She was such a tough lass. Working alone, she painstakingly was bringing life back to the house. She seemed so attuned to its needs, so careful to keep the integrity of it intact. And the way she interacted with her son, her dramatic proclamation that he be protected at all cost won his respect and admiration.

He chose not to actively try and torment her, but he did enjoy pushing her buttons. It brought out such a fiery spirit that she rarely showed. One that was buried under the same sort of pain that he felt. Someone had hurt her. Somehow her life was just as cursed as his own.

Killian couldn't stop wondering just how fierce and beautiful she might be if she would let herself.

She'd be bloody unstoppable, he realized.

…

All that evening, Killian watched invisibly from the shadows as Swan and her son performed their nightly routine. At evening meal, she played strange music from a little metal box as she cooked and her chubby-cheeked son sat at the table, drawing pictures with colorful wax sticks.

They ate and laughed, telling each other stories about their day. After, she brought out a game of sorts and they took turns drawing cards and moving tiny cherries into a bucket. Curious, he allowed himself to peek over her shoulder at her cards, noting how she was clearly letting her son win the game. He chuckled to himself when her son caught on to her ruse and forced her to play fair.

That evening, she helped him bathe and dress for bed, then they lay down together in bed and she told him a story he picked out about an island, lost children, and pirates. Killian found himself growing increasing drawn in to the story and the way her words grew quiet and hushed as the boy drifted down to slumber.

Tucking her son in, she kissed his head and softly ruffled his dark hair. Killian felt a strange stirring in his chest at the sight. Perhaps it was the open look of love in her eyes as she peered down at her son or the way her lips lifted into a tender smile that made his spirit react in such a way. He followed her to her bedroom.

"Swan!" He said, a little louder than necessary.

Startled, she shrieked quietly and spun around. "What the hell!" She exclaimed, an embarrassed look on her face.

"Apologies, milady, I did mean to frighten you." He dipped his head, firmly anchoring himself to a spot near the door. "This time," he added playfully.

She took a moment, looked him over, and let out a deep breath. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was clearly irritated, but her eyes seemed afraid. For the first time in his existence, he hated himself for causing that look in another's eyes.

"I believe I told you that this was my ship," he teased.

The fear vanished, replaced with anger in her eyes, causing them to deepen in color. "This is not a ship, Jones. This is a house. My house, as I have told you. And you should not be in here. In my bedroom."

Gods, she was a marvel when she was angry! Her face was flushed the most delicate shade of pink and her eyes were the color of the reefs on a clear day. What he wouldn't give to see her this way, framed by morning sunlight at the helm of his ship, the wind whipping the strands of her hair across her face.

He swallowed back his pride and proceeded with his original plan. "I have come to speak with you, to formally apologize for my words to you this morning. They were harshly given." He wondered if she would yell or if she would accept his offer. Either way would probably be enjoyable.

Narrowing her eyes, she bit her lower lip and nodded curtly. "So I'm not a liar, then?"

He swallowed on reflex. "I should not have said that to you."

"That's not a 'no,'" she commented bitterly. Her arms crossed her chest and her fists clenched at her sleeves.

Killian shook his head. _Gods, but she is a challenge,_ he thought wryly. "Aye, you are correct, Swan. The sentiment stills holds trued, so I do not take back my words, just the manner that they were given."

"Then I don't accept your apology." She huffed, head high and staring at him with a cold, hurt gaze.

 _If you start a fight now, Jones, she might refuse to speak to you again. Then, where will you be, you pathetic excuse for a man? Back in limbo forever._ Clenching his jaw, he nodded. "Very well. Perhaps you will accept a different apology, then? For my behavior this last week. It was not good form to terrorize a woman and her child."

Something he said must have caused her to reroute her anger, for she stopped clutching at her shirt as if trying to choke someone, and began pulling her hand through her hair instead. Her radiant, golden waves, that would no doubt be softer than the finest silks. "What's 'good form'?" She asked suddenly.

He chuckled and dared to take a step forward, hoping he might be winning her over. "It is the behavior of a gentlemen. A code I live by."

"You have a code? I would have thought a ghost could do whatever he wanted to do. One of the perks of being dead, I suppose."

He frowned, stroking the crease between his brow with his right hand, his other still tucked behind his back and hidden by his long woolen coat. "Unfortunately, that has not been the case in my experience, love. And to answer your question, yes, I have a code. I am a gentlemen and as such, I feel it my responsibility to try and make amends."

She took a step back, sitting on the bed. Killian remained as he was, not daring to move forward like he so desperately wished to. "What kind of amends? It's not like you can do the dishes for a week or take out the trash." She waved a hand up and down indicating his insubstantial state.

He laughed fully. "Aye, that is quite true, lass." He noticed a hint of smile on her lips when he laughed and took it as a good sign that she was softening. "So, I've come to a conclusion."

Leaning forward, elbows on knees, she frowned. "A conclusion?"

"Yes, I have decided to agree to…how did you say it? Cohabitate…with you. And your boy." He waved his hand through the air in a dismissive manner.

She studied him for a moment, pinning him down with her intense gaze. "You are going to stop trying to force us out?"

"Aye."

"Permanently?"

"Aye."

"And you will leave my son alone. Completely. Like… none of this Casper act around him?"

"I'm sorry, Swan, I have no idea what you are referring to. But if your meaning is that I will not show myself to him, then, yes, that is what I am agreeing to."

"How does that work anyway? The disappearing thing?" Her eyes had lightened back to the color of sea form and he could see the genuine curiosity in them.

He smirked at her, unable to keep back his inclination to flirt with the pretty lass, "Why? You worried I might be spying on you in the nip? Or does the thought entice you?"

By the sudden flush of red on the apples of her cheeks and flash of anger in her eyes, Killian knew he had hit near the mark. His smirk only grew.

"No! Absolutely not!" She denied forcefully. "And if I find out you have been watching me without my permission, I'll find a way to make you suffer. I promise."

For some reason, Killian thought it best to take the threat seriously. "Aye, Swan, I believe you will." He moved closer, noticing the way her eyes widened and tracked his movements. Relaxing his posture a bit so as to show her he meant no harm, he let both of his arm fall to his side for the first time. She looked down, blinked, and then looked back up to his face. "You only have one hand." She said bluntly, then tinted red right after.

Killian lifted his left arm, exposing the area usually hidden by the sleeve of his great coat. "Aye. I do."

Her look softened into something resembling concern. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so insensitive. Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

He turned away then, trying to keep the anger that rose suddenly from being directed at her. "It was cut off by the man who killed me." His tone grew icy, and he knew he had probably just lost whatever ground he had gained a moment ago.

Instead, she stood, coming to rest just a step away from him. _Gods, how could she not be repulsed by him? He was an evil man. A vengeful ghost who ruined everything he touched. Why would she come closer when she should run in terror?_ He tilted his head up slowly to meet her eye, afraid of what he might find there.

Sadness was the only emotion showing on her face. It wasn't the sadness born of pity, but of understanding. And in that moment, when their eyes and souls connected, Killian felt a warmth stir in his body for the first time in what felt like forever. Unconsciously, he brought up his good hand to rub at his chest. A gesture not lost on her.

"I accept," she said lustfully, eyes hooded and dark.

 _What was she thinking? What did she see as she studied his face so closely?_ "You accept?" He was monetarily confused, having lost all track of the conversation.

"Your offer. To co-habitate. And your apology, too, I guess." She smiled cautiously at him and he felt the strange warmth shift further along his ribcage and down into his stomach.

Shrugging, she turned and walked towards the balcony where the field of darkness beyond was dotted by a vast ocean of stars. He remained frozen, staring at her back. _Was that all of it?_ _Did she just dismiss him or was there more to this discussion?_ He debated how best to proceed, when she spun around suddenly.

From across the room, her features seemed closed off, guarded, now. "How is this going to work, exactly?"

"What do you mean, love?"

He didn't miss the way her eyes widened at the use of that term and mentally reminded himself to do it more often.

"I mean this…" she waved her hand frantically back and forth between them, "you and I… living - or not, I guess in your case - in the same house. I mean, what if someone comes over and sees you? Or worse, sees me talking to you and thinks I'm crazy. What if Henry thinks I'm crazy? I-" She rambled in a panicky, breathless voice.

"Swan? What are you going on about?" He quirked an eyebrow as he moved nearer to her as if on instinct. He had the strangest need to comfort her all of a sudden.

"You're a ghost!" She exclaimed.

He looked down at himself and back up at her and shrugged. "Aye, I believe we have sufficiently established that fact. What of it?"

Pointing at him, her voice began to take on a high pitched squeak. "I shouldn't be talking to you! At all. You shouldn't exist. How is this my life?" Her breathing sounded like it was coming in shallow gulps and her eyes were blown wide open.

Unable to stop himself, he pushed as close to her as he could get without psychically touching her. Having a part of her pass through his body now would definitely not help to keep her from freaking out, but he was desperate to calm her. "Swan, love," he said softly, his voice the only thing able to do the caressing he so longed for his hands to be able to do. "If my presence is disturbing you this greatly, perhaps it is better if I remain out of sight. I apologize, again, Swan. I really didn't mean to upset you." He forced himself to pull away, running a hand through his hair as he went.

"Wait!" She cried decisively, shocking him. "I mean…" she drew another breath, gathering her thoughts. "You're right. This is your place too. I can do this. I just need some time."

He nodded, suddenly finding himself fighting to hold back a smile. "As you wish, love." He let himself fade from sight and instantly reappeared in the attic, among the endless darkness once more.


	6. Restitution

True to his word, Killian remained out of sight. The next day dawned bright and beautiful, the world washed clean by the storm of yesterday. In the morning, Swan rushed around her kitchen and living room, her boy in tow, clearly nervous about something.

A couple of hours later, he discovered the reason when a man and woman knocked at the door.

"Oh, Emma. It's…it's beautiful here!" The woman named Mary Margaret exclaimed. Killian instantly recognized the name from the conversations she had had into her communication box as her mother-in-law, and the man, David, as her father-in-law.

This was the first time anyone had been to the house since she and Henry had moved in and he felt an odd sense of pride on her account. After all, she had done a miraculous job on the house; cleaning, restoring, decorating it all on her own. His chest warmed again as she blushed softly.

David beamed and nodded his agreement with his wife.

Emma took their bags and gifts for Henry and bid them to have a seat on the grey twill sofa, but as she left the room, her in-laws took the opportunity to wonder about the living room. They made favorable commentary on all of her little touches and the way she had arranged the furniture, also pointing out the interesting quirks of the architecture. Clearly, they were impressed by the house.

Pointing out what must be familiar old photos on display, they reminded themselves of the circumstances in which they had been taken. Killian had studied this miniature paintings quite frequently, feeling oddly jealous of the happy moments these images represented. He now recognized the dark haired lady and tall blond man he had seen in a few of them. Most, however, were of Henry, usually involving him holding something up and smiling. There were none, at least that he could tell, of Henry's father. This made him even more curious as to Swan's past. _Were the reminders just too painful? Or was there some other reason for her not wanting to see his visage every day. Did she even have any of these portraits of him at all?_

While they visited, Killian remained invisible, tucking himself in a corner of the room where he could watch Emma and her parents without fear of detection. His first impression of Emma's in-laws was quite favorable. They seemed to be very affectionate and sweet, and he could tell that Emma had their unwavering support.

Emma returned, drinks in hand and offered them up to the couple. "Henry will be thrilled you're here. He wore himself out trying to get his room ready for your visit. But he should wake up soon." She smiled nervously at the couple before sitting down.

The woman with the cropped, dark hair smiled warmly back and nodded. "Is he liking it here? I know Storybrooke's a big change from Boston."

Emma studied the drink in her hand. "Yeah, I think he does. The school's small, but he's made a few friends already and the people in this town have been nothing but nice to us. I think it'll be a good place for him."

"And for you?" David asked suddenly. Killian raised his head and glanced at the man. He had to give him credit, her father-in-law seemed far more astute than he would have guessed, judging on his 'princely' appearance. He had known far too many princes who were nothing but fools.

Emma met his eye with a small, barely noticeable smile. "Yeah. It's been a fresh start for both of us."

Unsure why, Killian felt like her comment was somehow also applied to him.

This seemed to satisfy both of her parents and the conversation returned to Henry's school and her plans for the further restoration of the house. Killian found himself utterly entranced with her like this, the way she was so bubbly and lively when she talked about her son. It was so different than her normal reserved personality. Was this the real Emma? The one whose walls were down and completely open to love and hope? If so, he wanted nothing more but to have her stay this way forever. She smiled so genuinely, her face seemed years younger and far more carefree. This was a woman who would do anything for someone she loved, and Killian felt strangely like his heart was thundering in his chest.

Which was quite unsettling for a man who hadn't had a heart to beat in nearly 250 years.

Suddenly agitated for no reason he could ascertain, he pushed off the wall, returning upstairs in a blink. He drifted to the room where the young lad was still sleeping, watching him as his small chest rose and fell with each little puff of air. Unknown to Swan, he had taken to watching the boy sleep on several occasions, finding his innocence a source of great tranquility to his restless mind.

He had also taken to watching Swan sleeping as well. But it brought out the sorts of feeling in him that were anything but tranquil.

Hearing the approach of steps on the stairs, Killian retreated back to the attic, pacing among the familiar remains of his ship. He ran a ghostly hand down along the broken mast and over the folded sails, hearing the sound of the ocean play once more in his mind. And his thoughts lost to days of his own innocence.

….

_Killian stared at the mug of ale in his hand and clenched his jaw. Taking a sip, he let his eyes drift back to the woman sitting across the aisle from him. She caught him looking and quickly dropped her eyes, with the faintest hint of a coquettish smile upon her lips._

_He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks and wondered just when he had turned into a love-sick fool._

_Downing the rest of his ale, he made a quick decision. Almost instantly, he found himself standing at her table. "Milady, may I request the honor of accompanying you for your evening meal?"_

_At his words, she tilted her head and met his eye, and even though the light was dim in the tavern, he could see the depth of her character etched in their golden depths. It left him breathless._

_She nodded courteously towards the bench opposite, but made no other offer._

_Sweeping his dark blue coat out, Killian perched in the seat and signaled the barman for another ale. He studied the woman, trying to keep his eyes from her ample curves like a gentleman should, and instead took stock of the delicate lines around her ample lips and the way her dark brunette hair fell in curls that framed her angled cheekbones. She had the air of great authority, but her eyes spoke to him instead of great sorrow. Perhaps it was that sadness that drew him to her, having experienced great loss of his own._

_As the barman placed a new mug on the table, the lady thrust out a hand to stop him, and placed a silver coin in his palm before Killian could say one word._

_"Thank you, milady, but I have no idea what I did to deserve it." Killian said nervously._

_She cocked her head and smiled. "You amuse me," she answered, and Killian felt unfamiliar stirrings of an unfamiliar warmth inside his stomach. He was quite positive that his cheeks were turning pink as well._

_"Always happy to bring a smile to a lady's lips," he replied with a slight smirk and a raise of his brow._

_She studied him for a moment, her keen eyes darting to his lips, before laughing lightly. "See? Highly amusing. Well worth the cost of a tankard of ale."_

_Killian placed the rim of the mug up to his lips, drinking deeply, before slowly running his tongue along his lower lip. "So, to whom shall I direct my thanks for this delicious beverage?"_

_Her eyes twinkled, reflection the golds and browns of the lamplight, and his world narrowed down to just the two of them. "You may call me Milah," she answered breathlessly, and Killian felt his heart and body stir like never before._

…..

Killian remained hidden for several hours, until bored and needing distraction, he decided to check up on Swan and her family.

Currently, Emma was sitting at the table talking quietly with Mary Margaret, while David was playing with Henry and his new toys in the living room. Sparing a smile for the noises the young lad was making as he swirled his toy ship over the couch, he stopped to watch the easy familiarity the boy had with his grandfather and wondered why Swan wasn't with them as well.

Hearing a noise from the kitchen, Killian moved quickly into the room to see Emma staring down at a pile of papers and Mary Margaret comforting her with an arm placed loosely on her shoulder. Though her face was flushed, he didn't believe it was from embarrassment. It was blazing hot anger making her shake. And he knew, just as he knew his own mind, that she wouldn't be losing her control in front of Mary Margaret.

From out of nowhere, he was hit by a wave of protectiveness and an unshakable need to offer her comfort.

"We can't let him get away with this," Emma declared, a raging fury burning behind her carefully masked eyes that he was confident only he would recognize.

Mary Margaret dipped her head, but agreed. "And we won't. We'll fight this."

Looking up to stare out the window, Emma let the gathering dark reflect in her mood. "How could he do this to us? To Henry? He always told me Neal was like a son to him." Her voice dripped venom. Whoever she was speaking of had clearly hurt her deeply.

Clenching her jaw, Mary Margaret remained silent, allowing the situation to simmer back under control, but clearly whatever was happening was just as upsetting to her. "Gold is a selfish bastard," she finally said quietly, earning a raised eyebrow from Emma.

"Well," Mary Margaret clarified, louder this time and more assured. "He is." The faint wisp of a smile flitted across Emma's lips and in that moment, Killian wanted nothing more than to hug her mother-in-law for putting it there.

Emma sighed heavily, rubbed a hand across her face and forced herself to look back at the papers on the table. Mary Margaret took this as a silent cue to give her some space and offered to make them all some hot chocolate. Alone at the table, Emma flipped through the papers one by one. In the meantime, Killian allowed himself to get close enough to be able to read what is written upon them, but far enough as to not alert her to his presence.

They were some sort of official documents, stamped across the top with the name of a court, a judge, and case numbers. He saw her name listed as _Emma Cassidy_ , and then a _Robert Gold_ listed as the accusing party. Some sort of lawsuit, then, against her. The charges were brought up by a Mr. Gold for defamation of his character and harassment. It also became quite obvious this Mr. Gold was suing her for a great deal of money. What wasn't obvious was _why_.

 _Oh, Emma_ , he sighed inwardly _._

When Mary Margaret returned with the chocolate drink, Emma had skimmed through most of the pile and if the hard set of her shoulders was any indication, had already resigned herself to the upcoming battle. So quietly, he could barely hear, she told the older woman, "You know, the settlement money was supposed to be for Henry's future. I know Greg and Tamara are in prison and we won that case, but now it just feels like I'm losing all over again. What's Gold going to do with it if he wins, anyway? It's not like he needs more money."

"Emma, honey, he's just mad because he got caught. Men like him value their image and their power. But I talked to Archie again. He assured me Gold doesn't have nearly the case he thinks he does. Not without more solid evidence. He said it this was probably just a stall tactic to keep him from having to pay you the money so soon." The woman turned and faced her, taking Emma's hands into her own. "But, Emma, listen to me…Gold could drag this out for a while, which means more court appearances, more lawyer fees, the whole shebang. I know you love this town, but I'm not sure you are going to be able to stay."

Emma wrenched her hands free, standing up and declaring, "I'm not leaving. I love this house. I know you don't understand, but I won't go back and I won't give it up."

Mary Margaret joined her, pulling her back to sit at the table with a delicate touch and an even softer voice. "But you may not have a choice, Emma. Just, for now, think about your options. And know that David and I will support you no matter what."

 _Emma might have to leave?_ Panic welled up in him and Killian couldn't quite understand why. Wasn't that what he had wanted? To be alone, to have the house all to himself and to focus his thoughts and energy on his quest for vengeance? Surely his priorities hadn't shifted so quickly. He barely even knew her. _But he wanted to, more than he wanted anything in years._ Yet, looking at the desperate sadness filling Emma's eyes left him unbalanced, his thoughts at war with his emotions.

Mary Margaret slid silently into the chair and placed her arms firmly around Emma's shoulder. _This is the moment she breaks, she lets her walls down,_ he thought _._ Killian expected silent tears from her at the least. But Emma did not break. She was made of far stronger stuff than that, it seemed. But she did let Mary Margaret hold her, accepting what comfort she could offer.

Seeing this woman, a woman he was desperate to learn more about, so strong yet so vulnerable, Killian made up his mind. Emma Swan must stay at all costs.

When the moment passed, Emma stuffed all the papers back into the folder, stood, and put the whole thing in the cabinet drawer where she kept her bills and such. "I think we should check on the boys. They've been out of trouble for far too long," she stated, her face completely masked from any of her emotions, and walked out the kitchen door.

A minute later, she was followed by her mother-in-law, her own tear tracks wiped away for now.

…..

Henry fell asleep early that night, most likely because his grandparents had done an exceptional job of tiring him out. Once he was out, Emma took a bath that was longer than anything previous, and when she emerged from the bathroom, Killian couldn't be sure if the red in her eyes was there because of the soap or for other reasons. Numerous times, he wanted to just pop in and check on her, but he's been trying the gentlemen thing again with her, and spying on her in the nude (however tempting and for a good reason or not) was most definitely not good form.

Instead, he waited until she was dressed and sliding into bed before he popped up in her room.

"Swan," he softly announced himself, hoping to not startle her. She jumped anyway and cursed.

"What do you want, Jones," she bit out, not even turning to look in his direction. He pretended the tone of her voice didn't cut him to the core.

"Are you alright, love? I know about what happened."

She clenched her jaw so tight, he could hear her teeth grinding. Squeezing her eyes shut, she answers curtly. "Have you been spying on me all day?"

Momentarily stunned, he couldn't seem to muster his usual elegance with words. "I wished to see the people you invited into your home." He conscientiously used the word 'your', hoping it would be taken as a peace offering. "And I overheard your conversation with your mother-in-law. I am so sorry."

"Don't. You just…" she yelled, dropping her volume immediately, but the intent was still there. "You can't. You shouldn't be here."

"Do you wish me to go, love?" He asked hopefully, simultaneously cocking a brow.

"No. I mean… yes. I mean… you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't even exist. You shouldn't be real. And I shouldn't be having conversations with you in the middle of the goddamned night after a really exhausting day!" Her voice quavered somewhere on the spectrum of panic and frustration and anger.

He took a step closer, needing her to look him in the eye, needing to see the full extent of the weight behind her words. "Do you want me to go, Emma?" It was the first time he had ever said her name to her out loud and he didn't miss the way her breath hitched in her chest at the sentiment.

She rubbed her hands all over her face, as if trying to scrub the feelings away, and half groaned, half screamed into them. Drawing a breath as if it were her last, she finally met his eye and whispered, "Yes. Please, just go."

He took a stumbling step back, bowed deeply and formally, and muttered, "As milady commands." Needing to try to soothe her one last time, right before he winked out of her room, he added, "Don't give up, Swan. We'll find a way."

If he missed the way her head snapped towards him, green eyes shocked and confused, it was only because he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the kudos! Comments are always welcome and any feedback is appreciated.


	7. Dishonesty

The first pink rays of dawn were just beginning to touch the sky when Emma awoke. Her sleep had once again been plagued by vivid but unrecallable dreams and when she came to, it took her several minutes to remember exactly where she was. Her heart felt fluttery in her chest, like the aftermath of a panic attack. Taking a few moments to just breathe, she let her mind drift back to all that had occurred yesterday.

Gold. The lawsuit. Jones.

She shook away the last thought, not yet ready to face why his parting words to her were so troubling.

Pulling the blankets up tighter, she snuggled down into her bed, as if trying they could help her hide from the reality of her situation.

She could lose this house. She could lose everything. Again. She always lost everything. Maybe it was her destiny to have the worst luck in the universe. Maybe this was all her fault. After all, she did call Gold right after Neal died and berate him for getting Neal mixed up in the whole mess.

Maybe she should have just punched him in the face and gotten it over with, especially if he's going to try to pin a harassment charge on her anyway.

If Gold won, she would be back at square one, worse than that, actually, since she would not only be out of all her savings, but a place to live as well. Just thinking about anything involving Neal, Gold, or the trial sent her blood pressure to record highs. But she couldn't allow herself to dwell on this, not now, not when she was unable to actually do anything to fight back. Swallowing back the bile rising in her stomach, she clutched harder at her sheets, twisting them tightly around her wrists, and forced herself to count to ten. It didn't help.

Only the sounds of Henry stirring from his room were able to knock her out of her spiral and she quickly took all those angry, helpless, self-loathing thoughts and pushed them down deep. The last thing her son needed was to see his mother, the only parent he had left, fall apart. She had to be strong for him. She had to ensure Henry's happiness at any cost.

With one last grimace, Emma left her bed and went to greet her son.

"Morning, kid!" She said as cheerily as she could manage, even though she knew her smile wasn't nearly as bright as her words.

Henry rolled over lazily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Mom, it's too eawly."

Emma scooped her boy from the bed, blowing a quick raspberry into his stomach. "Well, then, you shouldn't have got up yet."

Giggling and squirming, he begged to be put down. "But you said we can go to the beach today."

Emma glanced out the window. Already, she could tell the day would be bright and warm, the perfect escape from her dark thoughts. "Well, then I suppose you need to hurry up and get ready." She sat him down on the ground and he wasted no time running to his chest of drawers and pulling out his clothes for the day, choosing a pair of shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt. Before she could stop him, he had thrown his pyjamas on the ground and was wiggling his way into his pants and shirt.

"Okay, kid. I still have to get dressed, too. Plus you're forgetting about something."

He paused, his face peeping through the neck hole and his arms hanging out stiffly to the side. "What?"

She chuckled and bent down, helping him pull the shirt completely over his head. "Why, breakfast, of course, my prince."

Suddenly, Henry frowned, looking up imploringly at her with his cocoa brown eyes. "Mom. I don't want to be Pwince Henwy." Emma tried not to let him see how much his cute little speech impediment affected her, knowing that he would completely exploit it for his own purposes if he caught on.

She adopted the most serious face she could muster. "Is that so? Well, then, what do you want to be?"

"I wanna be a piwate, mom."

"Really? Why?

He rolled his eyes in a move that was an scarily exact imitation of her. "Duh. We wive in a piwate ship."

She poked him in his stomach playfully. "Sorry. I guess I forgot. So a pirate, not a prince." She watched him nodded fervently. "Why can't you be a pirate prince and rule the high seas?"

The way his eyes grew in wonder would have had her nearly choking on laughter if she hadn't been so close to tearing up. It only took him a moment to catch up and then he was jumping up and down in excitement. "Henwy, the piwate pwince!" He shouted, running around his room and muttering pirate-y sounding things like "avast matey!" and "I'ma make you walk the pwank!"

She continued silently laughing as he grabbed her hand and pulled her downstairs to make breakfast for them. "Let's get you some victuals, young sir," she replied. "Then, we can go see what kind of treasures we can find today."

…

One of the best things about the location of Misthaven Cottage was its proximity to a small strip of semi-coarse sand. About a mile further down, the sand smoothed out and the beach area became more used by the general public. But here, just under the tall ledge that the cottage sat upon, the beach wasn't as crowded and to Emma, it felt as if they were in a world all their own.

"Henry," Emma called out as her son ran back from where he had been exploring a small tide pool in the rocky formation under the cliff face. "Be careful over there. Those rocks are sharp and slippery and if you fall, you might end up in the water."

Henry eyed the rocks he had come from and nodded. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her back to the spot he was playing in. She answered his questions about the content of the pool, but her knowledge of marine life was woefully deficient. _I bet Jones would know what all these shells are called,_ she thought with a smile, but quickly shook away the intruding thought, reminding herself that now was not the time. She needed to be here for Henry not dwelling on a certain mysterious sea captain.

The soft waves beating against the rocky outcropping lulled the two of them into a sleepy daze, and it wasn't long until they both felt a tired languidness tugging at them. "C'mon, kid. Let's get going."

It was like flipping a switch. One moment, he was yawning and blinking his eyes, but the moment he was forced to leave, he perked right up. "I wanna go see the boats. I need to pwotect the town fwom other piwates." He pleaded, throwing in a pout for good measure.

 _How am I ever supposed to say no to this kid? This is not good, Emma._ "Sure thing, kid. But we can't stay too long. Mommy could use a nap."

…..

Predictably, Henry crashed the moment they came home. After spending almost an hour watching the boats pull in and out of the harbor, they stopped briefly at Granny's for a late lunch. Ruby was there and she beamed at Henry as if he owned the sun.

"Emma," Ruby greeted her warmly. Turning to Henry, she ruffled his hair with her free hand. "And you must be the man of the house," she teased.

"I'm a piwate pwince," Henry corrected, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

Ruby grinned brightly. "My mistake." She leaned down and placed a steaming mug in front of him. "Your hot chocolate, highness."

He offered her a friendly smile before accidentally giving himself a whipped cream and cinnamon mustache.

Emma reached over, cleaned off his face, and sighed happily.

"Everything alright, Ems?" Ruby asked, offering her a knowing look.

Emma looked down, trying not to frown at the memories she had drudged up. "For now."

Ruby acted like she wanted to say more, but with Henry present, she kept her mouth shut. Before she went to fetch their order, she whispered to Emma, "Remember, I'm here if you need someone to talk to."

"I know." Emma said gratefully, replying with a smile.

Returning home, Emma huffed as she carried Henry's unconscious body up the stairs to his room. She removed his shoes and covered him with his quilt, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Love you, kid," she whispered.

Feeling herself being called to rest as well, she made her way to her own bed. But tired as she was, sleep would not come. Without the distraction of Henry, her thoughts turned back to the uncertain future. Today was great, but in a lot of ways, it made her incredibly sad. She didn't want to give this life up, she didn't want to leave this town and go back to Boston. For better or worse, Storybrooke was their home now, and for the first time, Emma could see a future here. A happy one.

It was a future that also included a very handsome ghost. Yes, she could admit that Killian Jones was probably the most attractive man she had ever seen in her life, but what good was it? With his damn scruff, his chest hair, and his piercing clear blue eyes taunting her mercilessly, it just wasn't fair. Not that any of it mattered. Even if she did have feelings for him (and she didn't, she definitely did not have feeling for him), nothing could ever come from it. He was dead. She was not. It was simple.

Besides, it wasn't like he had thought anything of her. How could he? He wasn't even human anymore. He was just a memory, stuck in a loop that he could never break free of. It was a horribly depressing way to spend eternity.

But try as she might, his words haunted her more than ever. _Don't give up, Swan. We'll find a way._ Did they mean that he wanted her to stay? And why did he say 'we'? It left her more confused than ever. Not that the simple act of just being around Jones at all wasn't confusing. He seemed to have such a forceful presence to him. As if he commanded whatever space he was in. She wondered if all spirits were like that. Did all ghosts leave you feeling breathless and like your heart was out of sync? Or was it unique to him? She suspected it was the latter.

She couldn't help herself from wondering about him, even as she tried hard not to. What was he like when he was alive? She bet that he was lively and charming, charismatic and passionate. At times, she could still see those traits seeping through his cracks and it made her even more curious to discover just who was Killian Jones.

That must be why she couldn't stop thinking about him. He was a puzzle, the greatest puzzle of them all. There was no other reason she was couldn't turn her thoughts away. None at all.

Huffing, she rolled out of bed. _Who needs nap time, anyway._ She should be using this time to look over the papers Mary Margaret had given her, but just the very thought of them sitting in the drawer made her want to punch a wall hard enough to see her own blood on her knuckles. Maybe it would ease the pain in her chest. And like that, everything she had been blocking came rushing back.

Fucking Neal. This was all his fucking fault.

As she paced about, trying to burn off some of her rage, her eye caught on her jewelry box on the dresser. She knew what was in there without having to look. There wasn't much, but almost all of it was from Neal. He had liked to buy her things, spend money on her, even when they couldn't afford it. She told him over and over again that she didn't need jewels and expensive trinkets, she got along well enough without them most of her life anyway. But he never listened to her.

Just like the damn watch he gave her on their fourth anniversary. The one right before he died. He had told her it had cost him only a hundred dollars. But Emma knew better, and she had her suspicions about how he managed to get a hold of a two thousand dollar watch.

…..

_She had carefully cased the place for a week before deciding it was time. The security system was lousy and easily disarmed, and she was pretty sure the elderly owner had a limp so it was unlikely he'd be chasing after her. At 19, Emma Swan was a pretty decent thief. She had to be. After she was unceremoniously kicked out of the foster system at age 18, she wasn't left with much choice._

_She had already jimmied the lock on the second jewelry case, when she heard the voice behind her. "I think the maximum gold chains a person is allowed to wear is, like, ten. And I think you've got way more than that in your bag."_

_She spun so hard, her ponytail whipped around, hitting her in the face. "I—" she stammered. Her brain was already occupied on trying to find the quickest exit past the shadowy figure leaning against the door to the back, that her words failed her._

_He stepped forward, just enough for her to make out his face in the neon glow of the "Gold's Pawn Shop" sign. "Neal Cassidy," he supplied. His voice was more amused than angry and she hoped that meant he hadn't called the police on her yet._

_"Didn't ask," she replied. Her eyes darted out the front window, checking to make sure the street was still vacant, before coming back to rest on him._

_He chuckled warmly, and for the first time, she noticed that he had kind brown eyes and was really only a few years older than her. She pushed her glasses up, and said, "Why are you here?" Her stomach was churning with nerves and embarrassment as he studied her._

_"You know, Mr. Gold is far more capable than he looks. If he had been the one to catch you, he probably would have just shot you. I'm pretty sure I might have just saved your life."_

_"What do you want, a thank-you card?" She said, rolling her eyes._

_His laughter grew louder. "I suppose that would be nice. How about this instead: you put back what you stole so I don't have my boss jumping down my throat and let me buy you a drink."_

_Crossing her arms, she frowned at him. "A drink?"_

_He shrugged. "Yep, with me. At a bar. Unless you'd rather have drinks at the police station. I hear they have a terrible selection."_

_She looked around again, still not trusting the quietness of the street and the easy escape in front of her. "Why?" She asked suddenly. It was becoming increasingly difficult to swallow with him looking at her the way he was and she wondered if maybe she was coming down with a bug. It was strep season, after all, and sleeping in a car could really wear down your immune system.  
_

_Shrugging again, he turned to the door, answering her as he walked through, "You're pretty. I'm thirsty. It's fucking late. And you seem like you've got a story or two to tell. Take your pick."_

_She watched him leave, taking only a moment or two to reach a decision. She dropped the half-full bag of jewelry on the counter and quickly followed after him._

_…_

Grabbing an empty packing box from the corner of the room, Emma threw open the drawers to the jewelry case and began throwing the items inside. Tomorrow, she would take these to the nearest pawn shop and see what she could get for them. Hopefully, it would be enough to tide them over until there was a decision made in her case.

Right before she closed up the lid, another piece of jewelry caught her eye. Turning over her left hand, she studied the diamond and gold ring on her finger. Surprisingly, when she removed it, it came right off, as if anticipating this day for quite some time.

Placing her wedding ring with the watch and other jewelry from Neal, she sealed up the box, putting it the corner by the doorway before curling up on her bed. Within seconds, she was asleep.


	8. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments. Here's where it all starts to get heavy.

The house was quiet. The kind of quiet where all you can hear is your own blood pumping in your ears. It was setting Emma's teeth on edge. Fidgeting uncomfortably at the table, she looked at her son who was hurriedly gulping his cereal, and wondered why she was feeling so out of sorts.

Her chest felt empty, like there was a gaping hole. Several times, Emma even caught herself looking down to see if maybe there was some sort of explanation, but the only thing there was the smooth line of her white blouse. It felt like a piece of something was missing.

Or maybe it was just someone.

…

Henry ran ahead towards the little brick and glass building, grabbing the hand of a small, curly-haired boy with a smile cute enough to rival Henry's own, and waving back at Emma. Looking up, she saw the boy was holding onto her realtor, Regina, with his other hand. The smartly-dressed woman raised a brow and nodded in greeting. As Emma approached, the boys ran towards the school in a peal of laughter and silliness.

Emma smiled wistfully in their direction. Beside her, Regina made a noise half-way between a scoff and a chuckle. "Where do they find the energy?" She said.

"I'm pretty sure they slip something into the cereal," Emma replied. It was slightly cooler out than yesterday, and standing here in the parking lot of the school was making her regret her decision to wear such a lightweight top. Running her hands up and down her arms, she cursed herself for not grabbing her leather jacket.

Regina cocked a brow at her distress, but said nothing. She crossed her arms and tilted her chin. "Well, Ms. Swan. You've lasted longer at Misthaven than anyone before you. I must admit, I'm a little bit upset."

Emma frowned, hugging her own arms across her body. "I upset you? How?"

"I had a bet with my husband, Robin. I lost."

Rolling her eyes, Emma let her smug smile play on her face. "What did you lose?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at Emma. "I have to sit and watch Roland's favorite movie every night with him for a week straight. Let me tell you, Ms. Swan, a person can only take so much of _Snow White_ before they go crazy and want to shoot something with a bow and arrow."

"Wait? The movie _Snow White_? Isn't that a little…?"

Regina rolled her eyes in disgust. "I know, I know. But he loves those stupid dwarves. Don't ask me why. Personally, I was always more fond of the Evil Queen. She had a better fashion sense." She waved her hand dismissively, turning to meet her eye. "Anyway, how is the house restoration going?"

Emma pulled herself up proudly, eager to have someone to share her accomplishment. "Really good. Not nearly as much to be done as I thought there would be, luckily."

Regina nodded, mollified. "And the other problem? Have you heard any strange bumps in the night, Ms. Swan?"

"Everything's been…quiet." _Too quiet, damn it. Why do I miss him?_ _NO! No thinking about that man, Emma! Bad Emma! Do not think about his stupid innuendos, or about the way he says 'Swan' in that unbelievably sexy accent. And you are really not allowed to think about the way his dark lashes frame out those gorgeous blue eyes. Eyes like the water on a cloudless day. No, no, no. Nope._ Reluctantly, she forced herself back to the conversation at hand.

Regina relaxed her shoulders and sighed. "That's good. I'm glad everything has worked out."

"Yes," Emma agreed. "It really is a great house."

There was a moment of silent awkwardness when both ladies seemed unsure what to say to each other. Just as Emma was about to bid Regina farewell, the woman shook back her hair and said, "There's this _thing_ I belong to. A book club. Well, basically it's just an excuse to meet up at the Rabbit Hole and have some drinks, just us ladies. Anyway, your name came up. I wondered if you might be interested."

"In joining a book club?" Emma asked skeptically.

Regina shrugged. "In lady's night with me and some of the other women in town. But please, keep referring to it as a book club so our husband's don't suspect. It's every Thursday at 7."

Emma chewed her lip nervously. "I'll think about it. I don't really have anyone to watch Henry, though."

"Don't worry, Robin and some of the other men watch the kids. Although I'm not entirely certain there is a lot of actual supervision involved. But the kids seem to have fun." Regina smiled tightly.

Emma laughed, her head thrown back and her curls tickling her face. "I bet they do! So who's all in this club of yours anyway?"

Clearing her throat, Regina met her eyes, a slight blush of embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. "Just me, Ruby Lucas, Belle French, and a couple of others. Actually it was Ruby and Belle who wanted me to invite you."

A shiver ran through Emma's body. "You guys talk about me?" She asked bitterly.

Looking indignant, Regina rolled her eyes and sighed. "I asked them if they had met you and they said yes. Then, Ruby said to see if you would like to join us in order to get to know some more people here in Storybrooke. Belle agreed. That's all."

Emma couldn't sense any lie in her words, but it still made her uncomfortable that people she barely knew were talking about her.

Before Emma could reply with her answer, though, her phone went off, putting an end to their conversation. As Regina waved goodbye and returned to her car, Emma answered the unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"Is this Emma?" A vaguely familiar voice asked, belonging to a woman who seemed nervous and a little bit jittery.

"Yes. Who's this?" She said icily, tucking her hair behind her ear so she could better hear the phone.

"Oh, it's Belle."

Emma sighed internally. _Speak of the devil. I bet her ears were burning._

"I wasn't sure how to get a hold of you," she continued, "so I asked Regina for your number last night. I hope that's alright. I wanted to call and let you know that I found that information you were looking for."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Emma distantly recalled asking Belle for help with something. "Okay," she answered slowly.

"Are you in town? Could you stop by the library? I mean, you don't have to, or anything. I don't want you to have to-"

"Belle, it's fine," Emma interrupted, unable to help herself from smiling at how politely flustered the lady sounded. "I'm actually at the school. I can be over there in a few minutes."

"Oh. Okay. Great!" Belle finished chipperly, hanging up.

Emma groaned and walked to her car. She drove the short distance to the library in just under ten minutes, wondering just what Belle had dug up.

"Emma, here is everything I could find on the HMS Jolly Roger," Belle called out the second Emma opened the door. She waved a small stack of papers back and forth over her head. _I thought people weren't supposed to make noise in a library,_ Emma thought, but inwardly sharing Belle's nervousness.

With a tightly controlled 'thanks,' she took the papers from Belle and stalked off to locate an isolated corner of the library. It wasn't long before she was engrossed in the history of the ship that comprised her house.

The first was a Wikipedia article that was woefully short:

**HMS Jolly Roger, was a frigate class warship commission by the Royal Navy in 1714 for the sole purpose of relaying wartime messages from Britain's colony to the motherland. Therefore it was designed to be exceptionally fast and hard to destroy. It was a popular saying among its crew that the HMS Jolly Roger was the "fastest ship in all the realm," a reputation that held true until its eventual decommissioning in 1778.  
**

**The ship was essentially the same as many other three-masted ships of the day, only notable because it was also rumored to be imbued with the most extraordinary properties. Sailors often remarked that the ship was made of "enchanted wood," due to the extreme rarity of the wood from which it was crafted and also due to a number of strange circumstances in which the ship should have perished but did not.**

**Its first Captain, Eric Northgate, sailed her through 15 hurricanes with only slight surface damage and no loss of lives, a feet unparalleled in its time. After that, she became the envy of many of the sailors who believed the ship was unsinkable and touched by fate.**

**By 1740, the luck of the ship began to change. Captain Liam Jones was struck by a mysterious ailment while running messages for King Henry II, and died in his captain shortly thereafter. The Lieutenant on board and brother to the Captain, Killian Jones, took over the post of Captain in 1740 upon his brother's death, until his own controversial death for treason and piracy in 1750.**

**After that, the Jolly suffered a reputation as being cursed. Some sailors refused to sail upon her, going so far as to face prison time, claiming the ship was haunted. Nevertheless, the Royal Navy still employed the ship as a message runner until it took significant damage during the War of Independence. The HMS Jolly Roger was decommissioned in 1778 and sent to salvage yard where it remained until bought by a private collector in 1880.**

The accompanying photo showed a proud, three-masted ship, painted in vivid blues, yellows, and whites. Suddenly, Emma felt the strangest sensation of dampness on her cheek, and she lifted her hand up to it in wonder.

There were tears running down her cheek and all she could do was stare at the water on her fingertips in stunned silence. Emma Swan, who never cried, was sitting there reading about people long dead and a ship long forgotten and she was _fucking_ _crying_. What the hell?

Furiously rubbing her hands over her eyes, she placed all the papers in a neatly stacked pile before going off in search of the librarian.

Emma found her standing on a step-stool, trying to put back a hard-back copy of _La Belle et la Bête_ on the top shelf, her heels making her wobble precariously.

Coughing lightly so as not to frighten her, Emma asked, "Um, Belle, is there a computer I could use to look something up?"

Belle's bright blue eyes sparkled and she hopped down off the stool like a well-practiced ballerina. "No internet at home, yet? That's okay. Leroy's at work today, so he's not hogging the only computer." She motioned with her head to a side room. "Come on. I'll get you set up."

Emma followed Belle into a small office with a surprisingly new model computer, a printer on a stand, and a large copy machine. She let Belle log her in and set up an account for library access. Then, with a friendly smile, Belle squeezed her arm and departed, leaving Emma to stare at the blank Google screen alone.

The pages Belle had found were helpful, but not nearly what she needed to know.

Furiously, she typed _Killian Jones_ into the search bar and was rewarded with a plethora of hits all pertaining to people who were not the person she was looking for.

This time, she typed _Captain Killian Jones + HMS Jolly Roger_ , and got a solitary article to show up.

She opened the document, skimming down its contents briefly before printing it out. For some reason she couldn't explain, reading about the man haunting her house in a public place where anyone could see felt wrong. What she wanted, if she was honest with herself, was to snuggle up under her covers, the balcony doors flung wide letting in the tangy ocean breeze and the thunderous crash of waves, and to read about Killian Jones in the privacy of her bed.

It would almost be like having him there next to her.

…..

Her dream started out the same way it had all the previous nights:

_She's standing on the wood-plank floor of a large ship. She's barefoot and the timber is warm beneath her toes. Off to the side, many other boats similar to hers are docked in a harbor, the swell of the water making them tumble lightly back and forth. A now familiar scent of briny water, tar, and wood fills her lungs as she breathes deeply in. Above, the sky is turning into the colors of dawn, all pink and yellow._

_And for all that beauty, she feels unreasonably afraid. Something terrible is coming. She is certain of it. It is coming and it will be awful and the fear of it makes her want to collapse to the deck and cover her head in her hands._

_A sound of footsteps marching up the gangway startles her and she spins around to see three men boarding the ship. The first two are dressed in a loose black shirts, a silver vest, and black breeches and boots. They each hold aloft a sharp-edged sword as they scan the deck. Behind them, the third man, a richly-attired older gent with wavy grey hair and a dark, malicious glint in his eye, surveys the area with a sneer. None of them take any notice of her, and for that she is grateful. But only for a second._

_For it's not a moment later that a fourth man joins the party, arising from a stairway in the deck floor and eating an apple casually like he doesn't notice the men on board his ship. Emma is positive it was his ship, because the man eating an apple with a bemused expression is none other than Killian Jones. Dressed as he is in her time in his navy coat, vest, and breeches, he gives off an air of idle contemplation, completely unfazed by the two men holding their swords out towards his chest._

_Everything in her wants to run to him, to beg him to get away from these men by any means possible, because the one with the sharp eyes is staring at Killian with a look of something resembling murder. But try as she might, her feet won't move, her voice won't call out. She is stuck, an invisible witness to events that have long since transpired._

_"Morning to you, good sirs. What, pray tell, brings such nobility to my humble ship?" Killian intones, flicking the apple into the harbor with a small twist of his left wrist._

_One of the men in black gestures with his sword and barks, "Are you Captain Jones?"_

_"Aye, that I am. May I have the honor of knowing who seeks for me?" For the first time, his eyes flickers to that of the unarmed man and the barest hint of fear lightnings across his features. It's gone by the time he turns back to the man with the sword._

_"Count Rumple requests an audience."_

_Killian's whole body seems to snap to attention and once more, he turns to look at the older man. The man in question takes this as his cue to step forward. "Greetings, Captain," he says with a cold sneer. "I have come to bring you a message."_

_Dropping all pretense of frivolity, the Captain growls, "A message from whom?" There was a note in his voice that clearly implied he already knew the identity of the sender, but he is asking just to keep up the pretense._

_"Ah, ah, dearie," the man mocks, smiling, and in her mind, Emma begins to call him Crocodile, because his mouth is filled with razor sharp lies, and his eyes narrow into reptilian slits. "Today, I shall be the one asking the questions."_

_Killian's lips press into a tight line. "What's the message, then." All of his usual courteous manners are gone, leaving only a raw anger in their wake ._

_Suddenly, the man to his right slams his fist into Killian's gut, doubling him over. "The Count told you to keep quiet, maggot."_

_Slowly, Killian pulls himself up, breathing hard and staring into the face of the man who hit him. There's a wide grin on his lips, but only icy fury in his eyes._

_Emma wants to scream, she wants to wake up. Hot, thick tears are streaming down her face and there is nothing she can do to stop any of this. All she can do is clench her fists at her side and think: PleasenopleasenopleasenopleasenoKillian  
_

_Count Rumple strides across the deck as if he were the captain here and pauses to swipe a finger across a ledge, checking for dirt. His lips curl in disgust, and he shakes his head. "Tsk, Tsk. I would have thought a man like you would have taken better care of his things."_

_Killian growls, but keeps his mouth shut, his jaw clenching with the effort. The Count swings back around, stepping between both of his guardsmen. "I believe it is time to get down to business, dearie. Your message." From the inside of his brocade coat, he pulls out of heavy parchment sealed in red wax with a dramatic flourish of his hand. He passes it over to Killian, careful not to make contact with any part of his body. He then gives Killian the opportunity to open the letter and read it while he paces the deck of the ship._

_From her position opposite Killian, she can read every single emotion that crosses his face as he reads the letter. He goes from a kind of confused wistfulness, to anger, to denial, to boiling rage in the course of about five minutes. When he is done, his fist crushes the letter tightly and in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, "This is a lie. Milah would never do this."_

_Rumple chuckles at first, before he outright laughs. "Oh, but Captain. That's just it, she did. Your precious Milah sold you out because she couldn't live with herself for abandoning her husband for all this time. She came to me, she told me where to find you. You have the proof in your hand do you not?"_

_And the absolute worst thing is, Emma can tell that whatever Count Rumple is saying is the cold, hard truth. And Killian knows it as well._

_In a blink, Killian roars and lungs forward at the nearest guard, knocking him to the deck and snatching away his sword. Immediately, he goes for the Count's chest, but apparently, the Count was anticipating this because in a movement little more than a blur, he pulls a wire thin blade from the folds of his coat and simply_ slices off Killian's hand.

_Both the sword and the hand fall to the deck before Emma can draw breath enough to scream. Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block the image from burning itself into her retinas._

_When she dares to look again, Killian is on his knees, his right hand clutched around the bleeding stump of his left, his teeth bared in pain. Rumple is leaning over him, the tip of his sword pressed lightly to Killian's chest. "That," he whispers, "is for the theft of my wife."_

_Killian lifts his chin, sweeping aside the pain momentarily and meets the man's eye. "You can't steal what was offered freely."_

_Fury, jealousy, and just plain evil fight for dominance on the Count's face. A cold, sick dread settles deep into Emma's bones at the sight. She tries to look away from what is coming, but she is held steady by the force of Killian's eyes. He knows, too, but he is not afraid. He will fight until the end, never giving an inch. And the Count recoils from it._

_That's when he plunges the blade forward, straight and deep, into Killian's heart. "And that, is because she choose you." He withdraws the blade and Killian slowly slumps to the deck, his breath laboring as his life spills out, staining the boards._

_But the Count is not done yet. No. There is still one more knife to plunge in. "At least in the end, she came to her senses. And chose me and the life I can provide for her. Her and her unborn child."_

_Killian's breath stills, but his eyes widen in shock. There is no denying the realization in the Count's words. Milah was pregnant, the baby was Killian's, and up until that moment, he had no clue. And Emma rocks back on her heals, willing to make it all stop, wanting so badly to run to him and hold him in his arms so that he will have someone, anyone, who gives a shit there to comfort him as he breathes his last._

_But it is all too late, and his mouth moves soundlessly, slowly, and the blue of his eyes fades to grey and still the blood seeps further into the deck. Little rivers of red running between the planks. Soon, she will be wading in it._

_Rumple stands, cleans his sword on Killian's coat and re-sheaths it. He turns to his men and pulls yet another letter from his pocket. "Deliver this to the King. It details how I have discovered that the man responsible for the sinking of my ship a fortnight ago was this captain turned pirate. Feel free to spread the news as you go."_

_The men bow to the order, one of them pocketing the letter and the other rolling Killian over with the toe of his boot. "And this scum?"_

_Rumple shrugs as if Killian is nothing more than a squashed bug. "Bury him in the mud, like all the other pirates." So finished, he casually strolls down the gangway, smiling and humming to himself as he goes._

_It's only then that Emma screams._

_...._

Emma awakened in a panic, covered in sweat and tears, and shaking. For the first time, she remembered the dreams she's been having every night since moving in, and that scared her to death. Immediately, she was struck by a desperate, powerful _need,_ one that pounded deep into her heart like a sledge hammer. She had to see Killian, to make sure he was still here. She needed to see the awful truth in his eyes and finally be able to offer him comfort, if only to assure herself that this is all real.

 _Oh, god. This is real. He is real._ There would be no more ignoring this weird connection they shared. It was too necessary to her sanity.

Even thought it was the middle of the night, she ran from the bed and out the door. Her feet carried her up the attic stairs in a flurry, calling out his name in broken whispers. She could only pray that he was listening. And that he had stayed.


	9. Portraits

Breathless from her frantic run up the stairs, Emma called out one more time for Killian. When there still wasn't any response, her impulsive decision to seek him out began to seem really foolish, and she grimaced at the way she overreacted to the whole thing. For the moment, she wouldn't let herself imagine the very distinct possibility that he had left for good. It would be just her luck, though. Everyone else always left he, why would he be any different? Still, this was his place, too, and if he was tied to the house like she suspected, then he literally couldn't go anywhere. Could he?

_Where was he?_

Maybe he just didn't want to speak to her again. Maybe he was just biding his time until she was sufficiently off-guard. Then, he probably thought he could go back to trying to scare her out of the place. He was probably angry enough with her to do it, and she hadn't really given him a reason not to.

She rubbed her forehead in frustration. What was she doing? She pushed him away for no reason, simply because she was upset, and now she expected him to…what? Come when she called like a whipped dog? She was such an idiot. Turning on her heal, she tried to make her way to the attic stairs in the dim light. And to prove that the cosmos really did have it out for her, on the way to the exit, she stubbed her socked foot on the edge of a large steamer trunk, causing her toe to throb in pain and the glass buoy perched atop to roll off and shatter on the floor.

She threw her head back and bit her tongue, holding back the stream of curses she wanted to unleash.

To her left, a soft chuckle drifted from the darkness to mock her. "Go ahead there, Swan, no need to hold back on my account."

She gritted her teeth like she was mad, but the relief she felt at his voice was undeniable. She spun around, hoping he wouldn't pull that invisible trick again. "Trust me, I have no intention of holding back, but Henry's asleep and his room is right under here," she replied in a sort of hushed yell.

Killian was leaning against a box, feet and arms crossed, looking like he hadn't a care in the world. His left brow raised as if saying, _Well, Swan, if you didn't want to wake your lad, what are you doing banging around the attic in the middle of the night?_

She rolled her eyes at him, as if to reply _If I want to come up here at three in the morning and break stuff, I can. What business is it of yours, anyway, buddy?_

Killian merely smirked at her. "I believe you were looking for me. No doubt the lack of my dashing manifestation was keeping you awake at night and you needed relief. Or maybe you just needed someone to help you sleep in other more _enjoyable_ ways." The way he leered and inflected his voice left no doubt as to what he was inferring.

 _Shit, why was he always so insufferable._ She was caught _._ There was nothing for it, she would have to tell him something. "I had a nightmare," Emma confessed. God, she hated being this vulnerable, but she couldn't out-and-out lie to him, either.

At her admission, his expression changed and he rose from where he was lounging to more closely observe her. Try as she might, she couldn't quite meet his eye. She was already feeling too open around him and the thought of seeing any sort of judgment in his unfairly blue eyes filled her with dread. But when she did look up, she was struck speechless by what she saw instead. His eyes held only pain, the kind of pain brought out by a shared experience. "I'm sorry, Emma," he responded sincerely.

She could only nod, licking her lips nervously. Suddenly, her whole body shivered, at last coming down from whatever adrenaline spike the dream had left her in. She hadn't realized just how cool it was up here in the attic. Springtime in Maine was so unpredictable.

"Gods, lass, you must be freezing! What were you thinking coming up here dressed in that?" He exclaimed, eyes darkening.

Emma glanced down at herself, realizing that she was only clad in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, and that her bra-less body was acutely affected by the coolness in the attic in a most embarrassing way.

At the same instant, Killian seemed to notice this too, and promptly coughed and turned away. "I believe there's a trunk just there of old Master Smee's coats and such. Perhaps you might find something to help take the chill off." He motioned behind him with his hand to a wooden steamer trunk tucked into a nearby corner.

Emma lifted the lid, assaulted by the overwhelming scent of mothballs, and sneezed several times before she was able to dig anything out. It didn't take her long to locate a red knit cap and an old fur coat. She giggled a little as she slipped it on, reveling in its silky softness, and Killian winked at her from across the room. "Suits you, lass."

She blushed and snuggled into the fuzzy warmth, "I feel like I'm playing dress-up," she commented. However her smile soon faded as she remembered how she had never really played dress-up before, because foster parents really hated it when you went through their things, and kids at a group home really only owned the bare essentials. She made a quick mental note to buy more costumes for Henry, money problems be damned.

Sensing the shift in her thoughts, Killian returned once more to her side. "Tell me about your dream, love," he asked softly. He was so close that his eyes were seeing right into her, tugging at that part of her that had been closed off for so, so long.

"You know," she said, stepping away because having him that near was making her feel a little bit light headed and way too warm in the fur coat, "I found no less than ten articles about the history of the Jolly Roger, but only one about its captain." She looked back over her shoulder at him pointedly.

His face seemed guarded, his eyes hidden in the shadows cast by the single overhead bulb. "Aye? And why would you be interested in him?"

She swallowed, feeling a bit out of her depth. "Well, he is living in my house. I thought it best to get to know my roommate." She tried for coy innocence, but doubted she pulled it off when he abruptly stood up at marched toward her purposefully.

He was taller than her, and he had to bend down in order to bring himself right at eye level, but it didn't intimidate her. If he had a body, she knew she would have felt his breath caressing her face. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could swear she smelled rum all of a sudden. "Perhaps, _sweetheart_ , if you hadn't sent me away, I would have gladly told you what you wanted to hear."

Taking a deep breath to settle her emotions, she nodded. "You're right. I was rude to you for no reason, and I apologize."

This seemed to take him aback, and his brow furrowed in confusion. "You mean that?"

"Aye," she immitated, her eyes and smile letting him know she was teasing. He returned the look.

"Well, then, Swan. How shall you make amends?"

She rolled herr eyes childishly, but found herself grinning anyway. As she turned her head, she caught sight of the portrait in the gold frame. "How about this," she pointed. "I will hang your picture up in the house."

His cocky grin spread across his face, making his cheek dimple adorably. "I knew you couldn't keep your eyes off me, Swan."

 _You wish, sailor._ She blushed but rolled her eyes again. "You said you would tell me about yourself if I asked. Tell me about that." Clearing a small space to sit in front of the painting, she settled down and hugged her knees up to her chest, keeping them warm under the coat.

He joined her on the floor, stretching out like a picnicker from that Manet painting with the nude, and stroked his beard with a ringed finger. He took a breath and shrugged. "It was commissioned upon my attaining rank of Captain. I believe it hung in the gallery of the Royal Navy for some time. That man, Smee, must have attained it somehow."

Emma studied the painting then turned to look at the real thing. "For a man who just got promoted, you don't look very happy. In fact, you look a bit heartbroken."

Killian sighed, eyes drifting off, lost in his memories. "Aye. I only became Captain because my brother Liam had just died. I was his Lieutenant."

"You were close." Emma commented. It wasn't a question, merely an observation.

He nodded sadly. "Very. He was all I had in the world."

Emma felt the sting of those words deep in the pit of her soul. Suddenly she felt the need to change the direction of this conversation. "I'm sure he would have been proud of you."

He chuckled bitterly. "I think not. I doubt he would approve of how I've spent my afterlife."

"Well," she began, overwhelmed with a need to defend him, "maybe you had a good reason."

He eyed her curiously. "You said you read some sort of accounting of my tale. What did you find, lass?"

Turning to focus on the painting, she wondered again at how much she should tell him. And what about the dream? It hadn't felt like a dream. If she was really, truly honest, she would have said it felt like a memory. Like somehow she had found herself trapped in his memory of that horrible day. How could she explain that to him? She could barely explain it herself. She adjusted the red cap farther down over her ears and head, as if she could hide inside of it.

"Who's Milah?" She blurted, immediately inwardly grimacing at her total lack of courtesy. She slammed both hands over her mouth as if she could take it back but it was too late.

Killian looked as stricken as if she had literally punched him in the face. By the way his eyes flinched in pain, she knew she had just crossed some sort of unspoken line between them. Warning bells were going off inside her head as she watched all the muscles in his body stiffen and pull away. "Where did you hear that name?" He growled.

"Hey, um. Shit. Sorry, Killian," she shook her head, missing the way in which his brow shot up at her use of his name. "I didn't mean to…. Shit. It's okay. You don't have to answer that. I'm…" _Sorry? A fuck up? The absolute worst?_

Her heart raced with fear after that blunder. Would he disappear again? Would he decide she was too much trouble and just revert back to Poltergeist?

As if reading her mind, he blinked twice, and returned to his previous position next to her. In an even, steady voice, he said, "Swan. Calm yourself. I'm not mad at you, love."

It took a couple a minutes to shake it off, but she wondered when he had become so good at reading her emotions.

She had to make this right.

Feeling a tightness in her chest, she stretched out her legs and stared at her upturned palm where he ring had been just hours before. "I met Henry's father, Neal, when I was robbing the pawn store where he worked." She could feel how his entire focus shifted back on her and her words, and it gave her the strength she needed to continue with her story. "It wasn't love at first sight or anything. At least, I don't think it was. I'm not entirely sure I know what it's like to be in love. All I know was that Neal was a nice guy and he made me laugh. He saw that I needed help and he took me back to meet his parents." She chuckled to herself with the memory, "I think they sort of felt like I was the daughter they never had, because that very night they offered me a place to stay and a family I never had. They never judged me for what I was done or how I grew up, and for that I will be eternally grateful to them." She drifted away, her eyes closed, caught up in the intesity of the memories that hadn't seen the light of day in years.

"About a year later, I found out about Henry. We got married. We got our own apartment. For a while, I was happy. I had everything I thought I needed." She paused, willed away the dampness in her eyes, and stole a look up at Killian from under her lashes. He was utterly transfixed, hanging upon her every word.

So she continued. "Neal started saying that he wanted more for us. I don't know. A house, maybe another kid. He became sort of obsessed about money. So he began working extra hours. His moods became sort of erratic. I had my suspicions, but I couldn't prove anything. And then—" she paused, needing to take a breath in order to get the last part out. "Then, he went into work one night and never came back. Turned out he was shot by a woman named Tamara when her and her accomplice, Greg, tried robbing the place. The police ruled it a homicide, they said Neal was a victim of a burglary-gone-wrong. I knew better, but I couldn't say anything. Not if I wanted to win. Not if I wanted Tamara and Greg to go to jail."

"What really happened, love," he said in a broken, soft voice. His eyes met hers in understanding and sympathy.

"Neal's boss, Robert Gold, was running some sort of bait-and-switch scam. I don't know how involved Neal was, but he loved that old man for some reason, and I'm sure he would have done whatever Gold asked. I started getting 'gifts' from Neal. Really expensive things…watches, TV's, diamonds…that I knew were stolen merchandise. I mean, I had been a thief a good part of my life, it wasn't like I didn't know. But Neal just kept telling me how he had found a great deal on some stuff… or how he had picked up a little extra cash. I was being lied to on a daily basis, and it…" her voice cracked. "At the trial, Gold denied his and Neal's involvement. As he was leaving the courthouse, I screamed at him and told him he was a worthless scumbag who never deserved Neal's love." She was panting out the words now, and she knew she couldn't go on. This was the first time she had ever told anyone about what all Neal had done. Not even his parents knew the full extent of his involvement, knowing only that Neal had made some bad choices that got him killed. The truth was, he had chosen money and greed over his family. And the weight of his decision had nearly crushed her.

Killian drifted as close to her as he could, brushing her arm with his hand. It should have felt eerie or wrong, but it didn't. It felt like comfort, like a cool gust of wind on a sweltering day, or the warm embrace of sunshine filtering through the trees. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling seep into her skin.

"Emma," he whispered, and she slowly opened her eyes. He was inches away. She could make out every line around his eyes, the small scar upon his cheek, even the way his hair had fallen upon his brow. He was truly the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on and her heart ached so painfully in knowing that he was essentially nothing more than a memory. She forced herself back to reality, leaning away from him with a half-smile.

"I'm okay. I just don't really open up to people much."

There was something so profound upon his face at her admission. "Love has been all too rare in your life, has it not?"

_And oh, god, was he right. It had been so rare, she was positive she had no idea of what love really felt like. She knew she loved Henry, but that love was so automatic, she couldn't fathom feeling any other way. And Mary Margaret and David. She felt safe and warm and comfortable in their presence. But was that love? Did the way she feel when Neal kissed her cheek or stroked her back mean she was in love? How could it be, when she felt so much more with a ghost of man than she ever had with a flesh-and-blood one?_

"I need to go. Morning's coming and Henry will need to get up for school, and I need to get him breakfast and go to store and I—" She tried to move, but she found herself unable to go. She dropped her head into her hands, her body felt made of stone.

There was that sensation again. She knew without seeing that he was running his hand down her back and arm, trying desperately to offer her what comfort he could. "Love, everything will be fine. You are a tough lass, the toughest I've ever seen. It's okay to be confused, to need help. I am grateful that you were willing to share your story with me." He waited until she pulled herself up. "Thank you. For letting me get to know you, for sharing your story with me."

Suddenly, her whole body felt lighter. A sense of freedom overcame her. Maybe he was right. Maybe she would be okay on her own. She locked eyes with him, the blue illuminating the shadows and lighting her way home, and smiled. His answering smile took her breath away.

…..

To say that Killian Jones was floored by Emma's admission was like saying he was _a bit miffed_ about his death. As it was, he was left reeling.

He had known something drastic had happened to her, but he had never suspected that. How anyone could have willing chosen something as ephemeral as money over the brilliance that was Emma Swan was beyond him. Knowing what she went through just made him even more aware of her strength and inner beauty.

He paced unceasingly around her bedroom while she was away. The only thing that calmed his racing mind was the glimpse of the dark blue-green expanse beyond the window. At times like these, his soul ached to once more be able to be out upon the open sea, to breathe its salty familiarity into his lungs, to feel the pitch and roll beneath his feet as the waves broke upon the hull. It felt like freedom. It felt like life.

The only time in his recent memory that his heart didn't yearn with the need to set sail was when he was with Emma. When she entered a room, it was as if all his attention focused soley upon her. The dark thoughts fled, the weight suffocating his chest was lifted.

Gods, she was a vision! This morning felt surreal, dream-like. He recalled how she had first looked, all flushed and disheveled, but the panic and fear in her eyes arrested him more than anything. Whatever that nightmare had been about had been sufficient enough to completely unnerve her. And she was not a woman who was easy to frighten.

His pacing slowed, and his lips twitched as he remembered how she had stood there, nearly naked, and yet unashamed. He closed her eyes, seeing her as she was, a golden goddess, with her hair tousled over her shoulders and her arms held across her chest. And then the way she snuggled into that coat like a child. A growing spark darted from his chest out to his arms and legs, jerking his body with its force. Something was happening to him, but he had no idea what it meant. All he knew was he was starting to feel like he would give anything for the chance to hold her, just once, in his arms.

He owed her more than he could say. She had brought something back to him that he hadn't even realized he had lost. Trying to go back to the way things were before she arrived would be impossible. There would be no recovery from the darkness that would swallow him if she left. He needed to prove to her once and for all that he wanted her here, that he wanted to get to know her as much as she seemed to want to know him.

And he had a pretty good idea of where to start.

…

When Emma arrived home just after lunch at Granny's, she was greeted with the sight of Killian Jones leaping from her sofa as if he had been waiting for her all morning.

"Swan!" He exclaimed merrily, sweeping up to her with an enormous smile. "I need to talk to you."

"Okay?" She dumped her purse and car keys on the console and knit her brow. No one had ever given her a look like that before. He was the first person (besides Henry) who had smiled at her like she hung the moon simply because she walked into the room. Her chest twinged painfully and she rubbed at it absently with her hand.

He motioned for her to join him at the kitchen and she followed him warily, unsure what he was up to. "What's this, Jones?" She said looking at the stack of slim leather-bound books on her kitchen table.

Sweeping out a chair for her with a flick of the wrist (a feet she was still unsure of how he accomplished), he nodded for her to sit and then began nervously stalking around the room. "You said you wanted to get to know me, Swan. Those are my journals. I found them upstairs with a rather large collection of my personal effects. It seems Mr. Smee was quite thorough in his acquisition of my belongings. I think I may have judged him a bit harshly in the past."

Emma cocked her head to the side and huffed. "I think he might have been fangirling over you."

Killian's face took on a puppy-like look of confusion and Emma looked forcefully down at the books. "What's that, love?"

"Fangirling?" She grinned knowingly and bit her lower lip. "It's sort of like having a crush." He shot her another painfully confused look and she melted. "It's like he's in love with you, but in the obsessive-stalker kind of way. There's usually a lot of screaming and crying involved."

"Sounds quite dreadful." He said with a look of revulsion. "He should have seen a medic." Then, he caught the amused look on her face and a sly grin began to spread across his face. "And have you been fangirling this dashing rapscallion, Swan?"

"What! No!" She exclaimed, a heat rising on her neck and cheeks. "I don't—Shut up!"

"Ah," he said, pointing to her face, "I see the screaming part has begun."

She clenched her hands at the table to keep herself from trying to punch him in the chest. It's not like it would have hurt, and she probably would just end up falling on her ass when her arm met with no resistance. "What about the journals, Jones?"

He cleared his throat, suppressing the smirk momentarily. "I thought you might like to read them. Fair warning, most are quite dull, as many days at sea are much the same as others. However, all my adventures and exploits for king and country are duly recorded, as well as some of my more intimate thoughts."

Emma picked up the top book as if it were made of precious jewels. "Thank you, Killian," she said breathlessly. "This is really…nice…of you."

He flushed and scratched behind his ear, his handless arm sliding from its usual spot hidden behind his back to rest at his side. "As to your earlier inquiry, however, you will not find the answers you seek in there. I…" he gulped, turning from her and towards the sun-filled windows, "I will tell you all you wish to know someday, if you will but grant me a little more time. I haven't spoken to a living soul about... _Milah..._ in over two centuries, and I feel that I may need to better settle my emotions before I can do the story justice. But I promise you, Swan, I want to tell you. Only you."

Emma blinked, unable to explain to him just how much his words meant to her. Hell, she could barely understand it herself. Somehow she managed to choke out a 'thank you,' before he bid her farewell, leaving her in stunned silence.

Coming back slowly, she clutched the journal still in her hands to her chest and closed her eyes, pretending for a moment, it was him.

...

By that afternoon, Killian's portrait had found a new home, proudly on display on her bedroom wall.


	10. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind reviews and kudos. I hope you enjoy!

Once the accord they had been struck, the connection between them began to blossom into something like friendship. Emma was surprised at just how easily Killian seemed to fit into her life. If it wasn't for the nagging fear about losing the house in the back of her mind at all times, she might have said that for the first time in a long time, she was happy.

Killian, too, seemed to embrace her happy mood and did whatever he could to take away her growing apprehension about the future. One of the ways he did that was by acting upon his natural curiosity for the modern world. He barraged her with never ending questions about things he noticed about the house. Yet, she never seemed to mind his infectious exuberance for technology, world events, and even the day-to-day happenings of Storybrooke. It always seemed to bring a smile to her face when he asked her for the hundredth time what 'a microwave' does or how one could listen to music without someone physically playing an instrument in the room. And Killian was slowly beginning to crave that smile more than anything.

"Swan!"

Emma threw the mascara wand into the sink forcefully, grasping the porcelain to steady her shattered nerves and swung her head around. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me?" She shouted. "And why are you in the bathroom? I thought we dis—"

"There's a man coming up the driveway! He looks to be some a servant of some sort." Killian hastened back to the bathroom windows, withdrawing a black and gold spyglass from his inner coat pocket, and peered out. "There are words written upon his clothing, Swan."

Emma rolled her eyes, grabbing a tissue to fix the clump of mascara his sudden appearance had caused and said, "What does it say?"

He turned his head to her and frowned, as Emma tried to block all thoughts of lost puppy dogs from her mind. "Upon the breast pocket, it says 'George,' and on the back it says 'SpeedyNet.' What the devil is that about?"

She chuckled and swept past him to the door, "The world has arrived at Misthaven, Captain Jones."

He gave her another adorably confused head tilt and she sighed. "Fine, come on, then and see for yourself. But stay invisible!" She warned, poking a finger straight through his chest. "No scaring off the Internet guy, it took him long enough to get here, I don't want to have to wait for them to send someone else because you had to go and act all territorial."

Frowning, he placed his hand and stump on his chest. "You wound me, love."

She merely shook her head and left him behind.

As Killian had predicted, 'George' was standing on her porch by the time she made it downstairs. Emma welcomed him in and told him what she was wanting him to do. Retreating to the kitchen to make some coffee, she caught sight of Killian's journals still piled up on a corner of the table.

Before going to bed, she had picked up the first one and took it with her. It was written just after he had been made Lieutenant, as a recording of all of his day-to-day activities. There was something so heart-wrenching, though, in the words of this version of Killian Jones, that she had a hard time reading it. This was the writings of a happy, innocent young man who had not yet lost hope. He talked often of his brother and how great and worthy a captain he was, and she could feel the admiration, respect, and love Killian felt towards him. It was clear, though, that they were very much brothers by the tone of Killian's writing.

_"Liam had me shining the brass monkeys again. He knows just how much I loathe that job and yet he always seems to think it appropriate for one of my rank to do such menial tasks. 'It shows the men that the officers do not think of themselves in higher regard then the lowest ordinary seaman. It's a matter of good form, little brother.'_

_One day, I shall have my own ship and make him shine the brass monkeys and we shall see how he truly feels about his 'good form'."_

There was more like this, spanning pages, but Emma couldn't bring herself to read it. She realized very quickly that reading Killian's journal was too much like reliving that dream. It was too intimate, too bittersweet, and much too achingly familiar. It made her feel things about him that she was just not ready to admit to or even think about. So, she put aside the journals for a later time. Her curiosity would just have to wait. Besides, she would much rather hear the stories from him anyway.

Coming back to the present, Emma picked up the journals and carried them to her room, checking on George on her way. He was busy mapping out a place to run some cords and wires, but as she passed, turned and winked at her suggestively. _Were all the stereotypes about repairman true?_ She rolled her eyes inwardly and continued up the stairs, feeling the slightest bit of unease by his actions. He was old enough to be her father, with a body that looked like he drank his through a 12-pack of beer every night. _Blagh! Gross!_

When she opened the door to her room, though, she was greeted with Killian's stormy-eyed painting on the wall and her unease lifted. _I wonder where Killian's gone off to? I hope he's staying out of trouble._ He had to be nearby, she could feel that pressure in her lungs and chest associated with his presence, but true to his word, he was remaining out of sight.

Placing the journals reverently on a corner of her desk, she pulled back her hair into a loose ponytail and stepped out to the balcony for in order to let the breeze cool her off. It was sunny today, but the wind was high, causing the waves to foam and crest higher than she had seen them.

"I'd say the winds gusting at around 20 knots today, judging by the whitecaps." Killian commented with a chuckle, appearing beside her.

"What's so funny about that?" She asked sincerely. His eyes seemed far away and wistful and she wondered what he was thinking about.

"Hmm?" He said, returning to the present. "Oh, when the wind is like that, I used to push the Jolly as fast as she could go. She could run so fast across the water, at times I thought she was flying."

She watched his lips lift in a sad smile. "You really miss sailing, don't you?"

"Aye, love. More than anything, I just wish I could feel the wind in my hair again, have the spray of the ocean sting my face. And the thrill, the excitement of that great expanse of the unknown surrounding you! Nothing compares, lass. Nothing."

Her eyes felt moist, and she wondered if the breeze was affecting her allergies. "I've never been sailing," she sighed.

He looked down at her with something akin to horror. "Gods, Swan! You need to go. I've no doubt that you'd be a natural."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well, here in the real world, it's pretty expensive to go sailing."

His face fell, and he turned away, with a little cough. "Come along then, love. Best we go keep an eye on master George before he pillages your home."

Emma's heart warmed a little at his calling the house _hers,_ but she nodded and followed him out.

George was finishing up the wiring as she approached. "Well?" She asked with a nervous laugh. "Am I going to be able to watch Netflix again soon? I've felt so deprived lately."

George stood and ran a hand over his belly, eying her chest. "Should be all ready for you, Miss. Wouldn't wanna sweet little thing like you to feel _deprived,_ after all." His thick New England accent practically made his words indecipherable, but she could pick up on the misogyny a mile away.

"Of course," she replied curtly, as she retrieved her laptop from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa. "Do I need a password or anything?"

"Em, yeah. The wifi default's set at 'KingGeorge1', kind of an inside joke at the office, but you can change it to whatever you want." He leaned over the sofa behind her to direct her to the home screen she needed, and all the warning bells in her head started blaring tenfold. She could smell the sick-sweet tang of booze on his breath and inwardly cringed. Her fingers flew clumsily on the keyboard as she attempted to finish the set up so she could get him out of her house.

"Having a bit of trouble, there, Miss?" His laugh was all kinds of wrong.

"No, I'm good, actually." She stopped typing and put the computer aside. "You know, I think I can take it from here." She rose from the sofa, not bothering to look back. "So, thanks for coming out today and for the set up." She kept talking as she walked towards the door, hoping he would take the hint and leave. When he didn't respond, she turned sharply to see what the matter was, only to find him nearly upon her.

"Sorry, Miss, wasn't watching where I was heading," he leered and looked pointedly as her ass.

Clenching her fists tightly she drew a breath and stepped away. "Okay, look. I think it's time for you to go."

Suddenly, his face shifted from playfulness to something far darker. "Oh, but I was really enjoying your company, Miss."

Emma glared. "Please, leave. Now."

He laughed again, the sound like nails on glass. "What if I say no? What'r you gonna do, hmm? You're all alone up here, and that phone of yours is very far away. I checked while you was busy upstairs." He leaned down over her, bracing one arm against the wall. Her stomach churned at the thought of that man's hands on anything she owned. Her vision ran red.

Just as Emma was about to knee him in the groin, a very angry voice called out, "Oi, you fucking lobcock! Do as the lady commands!"

Emma peered around George's giant head and arm just in time to see Killian threating the man with a very old-looking, but still sharp sword. His eyes were dark with fury and his whole body seemed poised to strike. She knew she had to stop this now before something got seriously out of hand.

George took one look at Killian and proceeded to laugh his head off. _Oh, shit,_ Emma thought. _He just laughed at a ghost who's spent the last 250 years wreaking havoc on people._ If she was to pick dead guy of the year, it'd be him.

With George's attention focused elsewhere, she was able to slip past him. She planted herself firmly between the oaf and Killian, fixing him with a meaningful stare. "I can handle this, Jones."

The sword dipped (and she could see now it was a real sword, not some ephemeral ghost version), and Killian returned her stare. "The man threatened your honor, Swan. He must pay for the insult."

She sighed and glanced back over at her shoulder at George who was keenly watching their interaction. "Okay, fine. But it's my honor, so let me be the one to pay him back."

Killian tilted his head to meet George's eye, then glanced back at her. "Very well," he conceded. Unfortunately, George was just as stupid as he was fat and he immediately tried to lunge at Killian.

Killian side-stepped the man easily, causing him to barrel into the wall, knocking over Emma's console table in the process. George shook it off, picking himself up again rather impressively, and pulled back his fist for a punch. It also never landed, as Killian merely ducked and, in a move she could only describe as poetic, spun around and slapped the flat edge of the sword hard against George's backside with a sickening thwack so loud her teeth ached.

The man yelped in pain and rage and tried once more to knock the sea captain down. With a swish of his coat, he blinded the man momentarily before tripping him up with the sword. George fell face first onto the hard wood of the floor and Emma flinched at the reverberating smack his thick skull and heavy stomach made on impact. This had to end now, before George either A: landed a punch, only to have it go straight through Killian's body (and how in the world would she explain _that);_ or B: he wound up dead. More than likely, either scenario would result in a situation that Emma was not at all prepared to face.

"Stop it, Killian!" She shouted, and eyes of the man in question immediately flew to her. His dark hair had fallen down over his brow, and he was grinning in triumph, the sword tip placed at the junction of the fallen man's shoulder blades. George was still moaning in pain on the floor, but Emma knew that if she could remove Killian from the situation, he would most like turn tail and run. "You said you didn't want me to leave, but if he dies, what do you think will happen?"

The color drained from Killian's face as he realized the full extent of what he had done and was about to do. Saying nothing, he nodded sharply and disappeared.

Mentally preparing herself, Emma returned her focus to the man on the floor. She needed him out, and she needed him to never speak of what happened. "Now, buddy, I am going to ask you again to go. If you leave and don't make this an issue, I won't be forced to call the sheriff, your boss, your clients, and whoever else I need to in order to make sure you never work in this town again. Scumbags like you should really reconsider working with the public anyway." Maybe she was bluffing about calling people, but he certainly didn't know that, and when he rolled over, his nose running red with blood and a big purple spot forming over his eye, he totally seemed to buy her threat.

Mumbling something about there being no charge for the service, he picked up his tools and hastily ran from the house.

The moment he was gone, Emma fell against the door, sliding to the ground, placing her head between her knees. She had had her fair share of run-ins with muggers and lecherous men, but this was one of the worst. She was so completely thankful that Henry was at school and that George wised up, that she didn't realize she was shaking until she tried to stand.

And try as she might, she couldn't quit replaying Killian and the sword. How dare he jeopardize her like that? What on earth would possess him to try something so monumentally foolish? She was so fuming mad, that it didn't occur to her that had Killian not been there, things could have gone so much worse.

It wasn't until she was alone that night, soaking off George's breath on her skin, that the ramifications of the day hit her full force. Once again, she was driven by a need to seek Killian out, to reassure herself that he was still there, that he hadn't left, if only to scream at him for his stupidity.

This time, she found him sitting on her bed, staring off into the starless sky. He rose as she entered, a penitent look upon his face. "Swan," he said with a humble little bow, "please forgive my impudence. I should have been more attuned to the fragility of your situation with regards to my, um, state of existence. You were completely right to chastise me." He had yet to look her in the eye, and Emma wanted to punch him.

Instead, she choose to use her words. "You put me in danger, Killian. You put my son in danger. I understand that threatening people and scaring them off is just what you do, but even if you didn't kill him, he still could have made trouble for us. What if he found out you were a ghost? He could have told everyone about you, and made me look like a freak. Henry could have been bullied at school, or…or… worse! You have to think, Killian! It's not just you anymore. We are a team."

Looking up sharply, he nodded. Then, a pained look darkened his eyes. "He would have hurt you, Swan."

Emma sighed, and sat down on the bed. "I had it handled, Killian. And if he would have laid a finger on me I could have sent his ass to jail."

He joined her, studying her thoughtfully, his blue eyes really taking the truthfulness of her words in. "Aye. I see that now. I shall restrain my temper in the future."

She chuckled as she ran a hand through her still damp hair. "Let's hope the occasion never arises."

His smile lit his face, clearing away the last of the lingering darkness. "Aye." He reached out for her, laying his palm flat on top of her hand. That same tingling warmth from yesterday flowed through her. "You were brilliant, today, Swan. Amazing."

She met his eye, shocked to see the pride reflected back. Pulling her hand back, slowly, she nodded and said, "Good night, Jones." As she yawned and leaned back against her head board. "And, for what it's worth, thank you."

This time, he faded slowly away, leaving only the burning image of his grey-blue eyes, awash with gratitude.

…..

"So this was what all the fuss was about?" He asked incredulously, staring at the moving images scrolling across the television screen.

"This is Netflix, Jones. One of the greatest inventions of our time." She stopped at a title, and smiled to herself. "Here, let me show you what it does."

Cozying herself into the sofa, she pressed play, all the while studying his expression from the corner of her eye. At first, his forehead was lined in confusion, but as the movie started, he seemed more and more entranced. "It's sort of like theater, is it not?" He whispered to her, as if his words might interrupt the actors on the screen.

Emma nodded, a pleased warmth spreading through her. "Shh, just keep watching," she teased, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth and trying not to grin like an idiot.

As it went on, he grew bolder, offering comments with increasing frequency. "Why does that pirate wear his hair in that fashion? I think it would be most inconvenient in a sword fight. And why so much kohl on his eyes. He looks like a bloody lemur."

"Well, that is just preposterous, Swan. I ran down many a pirate ship in my day and never did I… Oh, look at that! Did you see that explosion? Brilliant!"

"What a milksop! That Commodore Norrington should be court-martialed!"

Emma had to try harder and harder to keep back the giggles from taking over, but by the end, it was no longer a fight she could win.

"Well, Swan," he huffed, arms crossed and a little pout upon his lips. "I really don't see what is so great about your bloody Netflix. That play had the Royal Navy looking like absolute buffoons! And what kind of pirate name is Jack Sparrow? Jack Nancy is a better name for a man who prances around like he does…If I had come across a pirate like him in my day, I would have chucked him overboard on mere principle."

By the time he was finished with his rant, she was doubled over onto the floor. "Stop, all right, just stop! I won't force any more movies on you."

His face fell. "What?"

"Well, I've clearly upset you, so just forget about it."

"But—" he turned to her and the pout he gave her and the way his dark lashes fluttered made her body tingle in a completely different way. "I was rather enjoying watching them with you," he muttered quietly.

Her heart clenched painfully, and all the air left the room. She could only blink at him in response.

"Swan?"

She shook herself and tried to come back to earth. "Um, yeah. Sorry. I guess if you want to keep watching movies, we can."

What little composure she had retained was completely undone by his answering smile.

….

Swan was on her communication device, (a _sailfone_ she called it, although he couldn't see any connection to a sail at all) her young lad at her side. She was speaking to her mother-in-law again. Her face grew increasingly pinched at whatever news the woman was relaying, and Killian was almost certain is was about the lawsuit and money for the house.

He sighed, wondering again what he could do to help her out. He had already told her to sell off the things in the attic. He knew that some of his items would fetch a fair price, and surely there were sailors in need of sailcloth and riggings who would pay for the remains of the Jolly. But she wouldn't hear of it. In fact, she flat out refused his offer with an emphatic, "No. Absolutely not."

There had to be some way. Perhaps, she could take in lodgers. The house was small, but if her boy bunked up with her, there would be a spare room available. He remembered, too, from the movies that Emma had been showing him, that woman of this age often did the same work as a man. Perhaps she could find some sort of job.

He wished more than ever that he had his body back. Swan needed someone to look out for her, to provide for her and her boy, whether she would admit to it or not. Sure she was a bloody brilliant lass who was more than capable of taking care of herself, but she shouldn't have to. She should have someone in her life that could offer her the comfort of a warm embrace or a sweet kiss in appreciation of her beauty and strength. And oh, how he wished it could be him. So, he would offer her what he could, but he wondered when she would realize that his friendship alone was not enough.

Truthfully, he dreaded that day with all his heart.

…

"What is that you're reading, love?" He asked, foot propped upon the other kitchen chair, elbow on his knee, and his stump tucked up under his chin. He peered down at her paper with interest.

"It's just the want ads," she replied.

"Oh? And just what might you be _wanting_ , eh Swan?" His little accompanying eyebrow wiggle made her completely forget her train of thought.

"A job," she managed finally. "Hey! Jones, get your boots off my chair!"

He huffed indignantly, rolling his eyes. "Not really here, love."

"Do I look like I care? Move it, buddy," she commanded, crossing her arms and matching his eye rolls with her own.

With a long-suffering sigh, he made a show of dropping down into the chair, letting his coat flutter out behind him. "Have you found suitable employment, Swan?"

She pushed the paper away with a groan. "No. The only thing available is as a bartender at the Rabbit Hole. If I take it, I'll have to work nights and weekends. That means I won't get to spend any time with Henry, not to mention the fact that I'll need someone to watch him."

As she spoke, Killian read over the page she had been looking at. "What about this one, love?" He pointed to a small ad near the bottom of the page.

Emma blushed. "Deputy Sheriff? Really?"

"Why not, you'd be amazing."

The blush deepened, and she pulled the paper back to her, carefully studying the ad. "I don't have the experience or qualifications or anything. Why would they hire me?"

Killian concentrated, pulling the paper away from her and forcing her to meet his eye. "There you go, lying again, Swan." He grinned, keeping it as teasing as he could so as not to upset her. "I know for a fact that you have knowledge of how a sheriff's station is ran. I have heard you on your _sailfone_ talking to your father-in-law about his job as at one. If I am very much mistaken, you were once employed there as well."

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I worked dispatch at David's precinct for a while. But that is not the same thing as being a deputy. I wouldn't know what to do."

His grin spread across his face, lighting the corners of his eyes. "Of course you do. You love this town, do you not?"

Emma shrugged. "Love's a bit strong. But, yeah. I like it here."

"I know for a fact that you are absolutely fearless when it comes to protecting the people and things you love. And I believe that is what is most required in a competent officer of the law."

"I—" she started, but had to swallow hard. "But…"

"Don't, Emma." There was such a tenderness in the way he said her name. It dissolved away all her fears and doubts until it was only the two of them, alone against the world. "You can do this."

He was so right. She had seen the ad and dismissed it, but it really would be perfect. Good pay, decent hours, benefits. It was exactly what she needed to stay afloat and keep the house. And braced up by his faith in her, she actually felt like maybe she was deputy material.

"Okay," she agreed. He smiled at her, and the heat flooded her body. One day soon, she was going to have to do something about that, but right now, she had a job to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. ;) Someone's going to have some competition...


	11. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A triangle and a waltz.

The Storybrooke Sheriff's Department was a small building that looked like it had been built in a hurry sometime in the early 1980's. It didn't give her much faith in what she might find inside. Walking in, she saw three empty desk, a row of cells on the far back wall (also empty), and a glass enclosed office marked 'Sheriff'. Any free wall space was largely dominated with half-open filing cabinets and an array of boxes stuffed full of papers and odds and ends.

She called out a greeting, and heard the shuffling scrape of a chair on linoleum. A curly mop of light brown hair and a pair of dark brown eyes peered out from behind the doorway. "Hello? May I help you?" The man said, words accented heavily.

She beamed at him, still full of confidence from Killian's pep talk. "I'm here about the job. The deputy job," she clarified.

The man hurriedly exited the room and Emma was slightly taken aback. He was very handsome and his soft, kind features put her at immediate ease. "Well, fantastic! I've been running that bloody ad for over two months and not a single applicant has come in. I'd say be mere virtue of you being here, that you've got the job." He held out a hand to her and then pulled back. "You aren't a criminal or anything, are you?"

Emma laughed and took his hand. "Not currently."

He smiled, and Emma felt warmed all over. "Well, that's good. Come on, we should probably go about this the proper way. I'm Graham, by the way. Sheriff Humbert, if you are into formalities, but most people just call me Graham."

She blushed, following him in to his office, where she took a seat. "Emma. Swan." She looked around, eyes wide at the utter chaos he seemed to work in. There were literally hundreds of cardboard file boxes stacked up against the walls, and absolutely none of them had any sort of marking as to the contents.

"Ah!" Graham exclaimed, forcing her to tear her eyes away from the car crash. "Misthaven. I've heard about you."

"Let me guess…Ruby?" Emma asked with an internal groan.

Graham nodded sheepishly. "Of course. You need to know anything, you talk to her first. She's like Huggy Bear."

"I'll keep that in mind." She bounced nervously in the seat. "So, what do I need to do to make my application official?"

Ducking his head, he riffled through the various stacks of papers in disarray on his desk, picking one out and handing it to her. "Start by filling this in, I'll look it over, do a background check, and…well, that's pretty much it."

She looked down at the form. "Don't I need to a pass a physical or have a degree in criminal justice or something?"

He shrugged, scratching at his beard sheepishly. "Maybe in a bigger town, but here, we're pretty lax. Especially since no one else really wants the job."

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Emma looked up at him. "Why?"

Graham chuckled. "I suspect it has to do with me."

"What? Why?" Emma said, a little too loudly.

"I'm kind of a hard-ass."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You're lying. Plus, I've worked dispatch in a Boston precinct on and off for the last 7 years. I know hard-asses. If anything, you're probably the opposite."

Graham's eyes widened comically. "Yeah. Totally. No one wants to work here 'cause I'm a complete slob, to be honest." He scratched at his ear and turned away. "The place hasn't had much in the way of organization and anybody I hire is going to have a hell of a job sifting through it all."

"How are you even a sheriff?" Emma teased.

"Stunning good looks? Charming personality?" His face turned slightly red. "I may have slept my way to the top."

Emma wished she was close enough to slap him. Instead, she sighed and stood up. "So, if I take this job, I'm not only going to have to maintain law and order in Storybrooke, but in the Sheriff's station as well?"

"That's the job." He said apologetically.

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "I'll start Monday."

Graham practically fell out of his chair trying to shake her hand. "Welcome aboard, Emma." She turned to go, when he stopped her with a hand to her wrist. "Wait," he said, stepping back to his desk and retrieving a badge from a drawer. "Here. You'll be needing this."

Emma took the silver star, staring down at it in mild awe. The weight of it felt heavy in her hands. _I'm a deputy, now. Deputy Swan._ She couldn't believe she had gotten the job just like Killian had said she would. She had taken the chance and done it. Never since the birth of her son had she felt this proud of herself.

She murmured a word of thanks as she left, still too stunned to speak. Somehow, her feet carried her down the street to the diner, where she entered in a daze.

"Hi, Ems!" Ruby greeted her enthusiastically, only to stop at the look on Emma's face. "What is it?"

Emma collapsed onto a bar stool, still looking at the object in her palm. She turned her hand and held it up to Ruby without comment.

Ruby looked at it, then at Emma. A huge smile broke out across her face and before Emma could react, Ruby had her pinned tightly in a hug. "Oh my god, Emma! You're the new deputy? How amazing is that?!"

Her arms were being held so firmly, Emma couldn't have hugged back if she wanted to (not that she necessarily wanted to, but it would have been nice to have the option).

"Thanks. I'm not actually official or anything, but Graham didn't seem to think it would be a problem," Emma said, pushing back, as her mind returned to her.

"Who cares? This calls for a drink!"

"Um, Ruby…that's not…"

Ruby winked and spun around, retreating behind the counter. "Hot chocolate's your thing, right?"

Emma relaxed. "Yeah. With cinnamon."

"Of course," Ruby called, filling the mug with the hot liquid and topping it with whipped cream and a healthy sprinkling of the spice. She returned to the counter in front of Emma and placed it like a gift. "So, you met Graham, then."

Emma looked up from her drink at the suggestive tone in her voice. "Yes."

"What did you think?" Ruby leaned over, elbows on the counter and chin on her hands. Her hair spilled out over her shoulders and Emma admired the streaks of red in her hair with a bit of a jealous twitch before answering.

"He seemed really nice."

Ruby frowned, her deep crimson lips pulling downward. "Nice? Graham Humbert is a lot of things, but 'nice' isn't the half of it. Try smoking hot. He's Storybrooke's most eligible bachelor, but he's a bit of a play boy, so be careful."

Emma fought off the color rising in her cheeks. Unfortunately, what sprang to mind when Emma thought about 'smoking hot' wasn't Graham's warm chocolate eyes, but a pair of eye the color of the sky over the sea and a chiseled jaw framed in dark hair.

Nevertheless, Ruby seemed to think the blush was for a certain Sheriff and smiled knowingly. "In all seriousness, though, Em, I think you will make an excellent deputy. Lord knows we need someone to protect this town that actually knows what they are doing."

"Is he really that bad?"

Laughing, Ruby patted her hand. "If all you need is your cat down from a tree or a ride home when you're drunk, then no, Graham makes an excellent sheriff. But…well, you've seen his office. You should probably just burn it all and start over."

Emma nodded her agreement.

"When are you going to come out for drinks with us, Em? I know Regina talked to you."

Finding herself flustered, Emma drowned herself in cocoa. "I don't know, Ruby. I have a lot going on."

Ruby huffed. "That's crap and you know it. Come on, Emma. Live a little. It's not like we bite. Well, maybe I do, but the other ladies are all better behaved, I promise."

Emma couldn't help but laugh and offered Ruby a sincere smile. "Okay. I'll think about. I promise. But next week. I really can't right now."

Tossing back her hair from her shoulders, Ruby stood up, at last deciding she had better check on the other two patrons of the diner. "Fine, but I'm holding you to it." She walked away, leaving Emma alone with her hot chocolate and thoughts.

She continued to sip at her drink, occasionally making small talk with Ruby, until it was time to pick up Henry. She was practically bursting to tell him the news. Just as she suspected, Henry was over the moon when she told him she was going to be a police officer. All the way home, he bounced around in his car seat, asking about if she was going to be a 'suppa hewo' who caught the bad guys.

Her excitement continued throughout the evening, making her jittery and nervous in anticipation of Killian's reaction. Her body warmed at the thought of how he had told her she was brilliant and tough and amazing, and her heart soared with knowing that it was his faith in her that helped build up the confidence in her own abilities.

…..

Killian could tell that Emma had succeed on her quest the moment she walked through the door. In fact, he had been positive she would get the job before she even left. He was so bloody proud of her simply because she was so proud of herself.

He knew that an occasion like this should be celebrated with something monumental. While Emma and her lad puttered around the kitchen, Killian retreated to the attic to plan out a surprise just for her. It didn't take long for him to come up with something that was sure to please her. He located the box of his things and pulled them out one by one until he found what he desired. As he was retrieving the object, he noticed the old sextant his brother had once given him. Killian smiled at the memory and pulled it from its case.

He turned it over in his hand, studying the markings on its surface, each one tied to an adventure he and his brother had shared. But all that was long ago, and Killian knew that the sextant needed a new home. And he had just the place for it. He took the sextant and the other object he had found and began his preparations for Emma's surprise.

….

After Henry had fallen asleep, Emma returned to her bedroom to be greeted by the soft flicker of candlelight spread throughout the room. She pushed the door open further, shocked as she could hear the strains of her favorite song coming from her Ipod in the corner. And there, standing just in front of the window, was her Captain. He looked up at her approach and sheepishly scratched behind his ear.

"Did you do this for me?" Emma asked in wonder. She couldn't remember a time in her entire life when anyone had done something this nice for her.

"Of course, Swan. You deserve it. You conquered your fears and saved the day."

Emma laughed at that. "You sound like Henry, calling me a super hero. All I did was apply for a job."

Killian stepped forward, right up into her personal space, as he told her, "Ah, but Swan, you did so much more. You are able to keep this house now, right?"

Emma swallowed, his proximity and the heat in her body making her see stars. "Yes. This job means I can keep the house."

Killian smiled at her like she was his own personal savior. "Then, Emma, you are a bloody hero."

She couldn't breathe. It was too hot, too suffocating. She practically ran to the door and flung it open, sucking in the cool night air greedily. He came up behind her, not saying a word, merely looking out past her to the sea.

A deep fog was starting to roll in from across the water. A few lingering boats could still be seen, their lights fading in and out like stars twinkling amongst the clouds. Occasionally, the mournful sound of fog horns could be far, far out. Tears sprang forth to her eyes. They sounded so lost, crying out for help amongst the endless sea. She hated it because it was a reflection of her soul.

As if reading her thoughts, Killian exclaimed. "Oh, Swan, what adventures we could have had, you and I! If you had been with me, out at sea, we could have sailed the world, seen sights you never imagined in your wildest dreams. We could have braved the fiercest gales, searched the farthest seas, climbed the highest mountains. Together."

Between his words and the fog, the real world blurred away. Suddenly, she was thrust into a vision of her standing beside him at the helm of the Jolly, the flat, open expanse of water and sky blending together before them.

_He was smiling proudly at her, before bending down and pulling her in for a consuming, passionate kiss. He plundered her. He devoured her. He scorched her mouth, body, and soul. She could feel the heat of his hand as it brushed over her cheek and tangled in her hair. The firm press of his body against her making her weak. At last, he pulled back, breaking the kiss but keeping his eyes locked upon her. The hand in her hair slipped down, running along her shoulder, her arm, and finally her hand as he directed her to take up the wheel._

_Out in front, Henry leaned over the railing, shouting back at them about the dolphins running alongside the ship. Killian beamed at him before sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her in close. "I do believe our son will make a fine captain some day." There was a note of such pride in his voice that Emma teared up. Never had Neal talked about Henry in that way, never had she seen the love Killian had for Henry reflected in the eyes of her son's own father._

_She turned back to the wheel, wiping furiously at her eyes, but he caught up her hand in his and proceeded to wipe them away with the gentle calloused tips of his own. It was all too much. He was too much._

When at last reality returned, she looked up to meet his eye, and found him hovering mere inches away from her, a dark look of desire in his eyes.

"Swan…" he whispered, voice thick and heady.

And god, did she want him. Not just him, but that life he had shown to her. To live out there, to be completely, utterly free. To be with him and Henry. A family. She wanted that more than she had wanted anything in her entire life. It was a desire so strong, she was left trembling in its wake.

He blinked, the moment fading away for the both of them as the reminder of why that would never, could never be sank in. "Dance with me, Swan," he said instead.

She giggled a little, mind dizzy from the conflicting emotions, before stepping back. "What?"

He strode back into the room purposefully, spinning on his heal to face her, and held out his hand. "Dance with me."

She followed him back into her room, but kept her distance. "I don't think it'll work."

Killian gave her a long suffering sigh. "Try something new, darling. It's called trust." He held his hand out once more. "Come."

Her heart raced madly with the impossibility of what he was suggesting, yet she found herself giving in to him. Placing her hand over his, the warm pin pricks spread up her arm and stilled in her chest. It was like trying to touch a rainbow. To grasp on to the impossible. When she finally managed to find her breath once more, she looked up into those eyes, those blue like the horizon eyes, and was lost.

It started slow, him moving her around with the slightest nod of his head and tilt of his wrist, until she was waltzing about the room with him. Not quite touching, they somehow managed to find themselves in a far more intimate embrace than any mere act of human contact. Emma had never in her life felt a passion like this, nor more wanted and cherished. She leaned into him and he leaned back and they danced together for what seemed like hours. Spinning, twirling, lost together.

In the morning when she awoke, she was almost certain it was all a dream.

Yet, there, atop her pillow, was a golden compass and a perfectly scripted note in Killian's hand.

_"_ _My dearest Swan. I bestow upon you my compass. It was a gift from my mother when I joined the Royal Navy. She told me it would always keep me safe and lead me towards home. I have no doubt it will do the same for you. Yours always, Killian"_


	12. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of lovin', some Marco, some Henry, and a wee bit of angst.

_The night had grown colder. Her blankets simply weren't cutting it. Shivering, she tossed about again, hoping to create friction enough to warm her body._

_"Bunch over, love." His lush, gravelly voice whispered in her ear._

_She shivered once more, but this time, not from the cold. Hastily, she rolled to the side of the bed, making room under the covers for him, and felt the firm press of a body slide in next to her. A very nearly naked body._

_He was so warm, like her own personal space heater, and soon enough, she found herself relaxing into him. It was inevitable that she would wind up snuggling in closer, breathing in his scent of salt, rum, and sandalwood. "Mmm, Killian," she moaned quietly, running her hands across the hard planes of his arms and chest._

_What was before merely a small, simple flame roared into a sudden raging bonfire. His hands slid down her back, softly caressing her skin as he pulled her closer to him. She could feel his whiskers brushing against her ear as he mouthed her name softly and tenderly at that sensitive junction of neck and jaw. A different kind of warmth spread over her body, and she found herself throwing a leg over his to relieve the growing tension, while her hands continued to explore the coarse hairs of his chest and the firm ripple of muscle underneath._

_Within moments, the hand on her back had traced its way back up, pushing into her skin firmly. It slid across her collarbone feather-light, and traced up along her neck, until finally lifting her chin up towards him._

_Her eyes were open now, and she was nearly blinded by the way his face shown in the moonlight from the open balcony door. She traced his jaw, memorized the shaped of his chin, stroked her fingers along his dark, expressive brow. It was so familiar and foreign all at once._

_He watched her with an expression of lust and longing so powerful, she was helpless to resist. Not that she wanted to resist. She wanted it all. She wanted him. This. Everything._

_"Emma," he purred, drawing her mouth closer and closer to his flushed lips. Just one kiss, just one taste, and Emma knew she would be lost forever to him._

_She pushed her body further into him, trying to rub out the tension gathering between her legs. "Killian, please," she begged, licking her lips in anticipation, as their heated breaths mingling together. So close. She could already taste him._

_She closed her eyes, trembling._

_And suddenly she was trembling from the cold again. No longer snuggled up under the blankets with Killian, she was alone. Without needing to open her eyes, she could feel that his presence was gone. Her arms ached to hold him, her body flushed with need. And her heart. It felt like she had been stabbed. For a moment, all she could do was squeeze her eyes tighter, fighting back the tears, and wish she was back with him._

_When nothing changed, she forced herself to acknowledge what had occurred. Opening her eyes, she found that she was no longer in her bed, or even in her own home. She was standing in a grand room, the fire in the marble fireplace slowly dwindling to nothing. And she was not alone. A woman sat with her back to her, writing something upon a table. She was finely dressed in a cream-colored silk gown, her dark, curled locks pinned up in intricate braids and fastened with a diamond comb. Emma moved forward, curious to see what this lady was writing so intently._

_At her approach, the woman turned, meeting Emma's eye with a knowing glance. Her golden hazel eyes looked Emma up and down as if appraising her value, before nodding, seemingly satisfied._

_"Who are you?" Emma asked, but the lady didn't answer. Instead, she put down the pen and stood up. Immediately, Emma noticed the lady's predominant pregnant belly._

_Suddenly, it all made sense. "You're Milah, aren't you?"_

_Tilting her head and keeping her face expressionless, the lady nodded. She glanced away to the fire, frowning and placing one hand upon the letter she was writing, the other over her belly affectionately. The next minute, she turned back to Emma, her eyes filled with a horrible sadness. A darkness began to descend upon the room, and Emma recognized the signs of her waking. As the dream started to fade, the woman held Emma's gaze, silently pleading with her._

_"Save him," she heard, the voice echoing in Emma's mind as she swam for the shore of consciousness._

_"Save him."_

Emma flew awake with a start, sitting bolt upright in her bed, and panting. Between the overly stimulating first part of her dream, and the way she could still hear Milah's voice begging for her help, her heart was racing too rapidly. She laid back against her pillows, willing her mind and body to calm down before she could think again.

Milah. She had just seen Milah. Again, like the other dream, she was certain that it was somehow real. She had wanted Emma to save _him_. Well, there was only one 'him' she could be referring to, but how was she supposed to save Killian? He was already dead, it wasn't like she could prevent that.

Perhaps it was something else. He had yet to tell her what had happened between them. Maybe it was time to ask him again.

Suddenly, she felt a burst of frustrated anger. Not at him, but at their situation. It had been a week since their 'dance' and it still seemed like they were dancing, but in a completely different fashion. They had both wordlessly backed off since that night. Emma wasn't sure what he was feeling, but she knew why she had pulled back. Whatever this was between them (and Emma was willing to admit there was definitely something there, just not _what_ it was) didn't matter. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much attraction or affection, they simply could never be.

Groaning, Emma rolled over to look at the time. It was nearly time for her to get Henry up, and get ready for work. She needed to push all thought of Killian away, or she would never make it.

Work. It had so far proven to be one of the best decisions she had made. She felt useful and needed. It was a feeling she had never experienced before. And it was nice. To be needed. Sorting through the endless piles was a bit tedious, but she had made such progress already, she couldn't help but feel proud of herself. And her patrols with Graham had gone well, too. Already, she felt confident she could handle herself in almost any situation.

She smiled to herself, thinking about Graham. It was pretty obvious to her that he had feelings for her. She wondered how long it would take him to say something or ask her out. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Graham was nice, a good listener, and he made her laugh. It also didn't hurt that she sort of melted whenever he would throw those stupid puppy dog eyes of his her way. So what was it that held her back?

A month ago, she would have said she wasn't ready to move on. The sting of betrayal and pain Neal's death caused had left her completely closed off to the possibility of love. So why didn't she feel that way now? What had changed?

She glanced towards her nightstand, where the journals now sat and at the compass perched on top. She sighed. If she was honest, it was pretty obvious what had changed, but that didn't make it any easier.

She needed more than a ghost. Or dreams. She needed someone real. Someone she could build a life with. She needed a partner, a father for Henry. And that just couldn't be Killian, no matter how much her heart wished it. She needed to find a way to move on, to let go of his hold on her heart before they both wound up getting hurt.

She needed to find a way to save him. Even if it was from herself.

…

Emma stared down at the lump in the center of the bed. "Come on, kid. You need to get up. You've got school, and I'm a working girl now…" She slapped a hand over her face. "Oh my god, I did not just say that to my son. I meant I have a job, Henry. Please don't tell anyone I'm a working girl."

The lump moved around and she could hear his muffled giggles coming from under the covers. "Up!" She cried, going in for a tickle. "Time for breakfast." Her hands sought out his tummy and she heard him laugh, then moan.

"Mooomm," he said, and she could hear the way his eyes rolled in the tone of his voice.

"No. Not today. Time to get up," She went to pull back the covers when her hand hit something hard and…metal? "Henry? What's this?"

Quick as lightning, Henry pushed back the covers, revealing his messy mop of hair and wide eyes. "Nothing. Come on, Mom. Bweakfast." He grabbed her hand, and tugged her arm as he jumped from the bed.

"Henry…what's in th—"

He stood at the doorway, hands on hips and glared. "Just something I found. Now, let's go. Do you wanna be late?" He flashed her with his impossible-to-resist pout and she caved.

Smiling at his victory, he grabbed her hand again and pulled her away. There was definitely something he was hiding, but as she glanced up and saw the time, she decided that whatever it was could wait.

"So," she said, hurriedly gulping down her orange juice and adjusting her shirt. "Regina is going to pick you up after school so you can play with Roland. I'll come and get you later. I've got to work late today, kid."

"Okay." Henry nodded, distracted by the pictures on his box of cereal. "Do you think Wo- _Ro_ land, could come hew- _here_ sometime?"

She smiled affectionately at him. "Sure, I guess. Hey, you're doing a good job with your speech, there, kiddo. You been working on it at school?"

He nodded, giving her a proud smile. "Eve- _every_ day. With my teachaw- _er_." He finished his cereal, slurping up the last bits in the bowl.

"Go grab your stuff, kid, I'll meet you at the car."

"Kay, mom." Henry ran off, his little feet pounding up the steps. Emma let her smile take over her face as she checked her hair and clothes one last time in the reflection of the microwave.

"You look lovely as ever, Swan," Killian's voice said, causing her to blush in embarrassment, as she pivoted to see him leaning against her refrigerator, one leg crossed over the other. "Are you trying to impress someone?" His tone suddenly felt a little too knowing.

She frowned. "No. Just getting ready for my job." She crossed her arms, trying to stare him down, but flashes of the dream kept creeping up and she was forced to look away before the flame spreading across her skin could betray her. _That's right, Emma. Look at the floor, the window. Anywhere but that chest, those muscles, those eyes. Yep, definitely not the eyes. Or the scruff._

"Hey, you need to get out of here. Henry could see you," she chided.

He flashed her a smirk and nodded in understanding. "Never fear, love. I'm on my way." He winked, and pulled himself up. "Good luck, Swan. The law breakers of Storybrooke don't stand a chance." She blinked and he was gone, leaving her breathless and grinning, despite herself.

"Mom?" Came Henry's voice from the doorway. "You weady?" He pulled his backpack on, huffing with its weight.

Mentally shaking herself, she looked him over, "What are you carrying in there, kid? Bricks?"

He looked down at the floor, shuffling his shoes. "It's for show-n-tell."

He wasn't exactly lying to her, but she could tell he was holding something back. Never mind, she would ask him about it later. "Fine, but I want to see what you keep hiding from later tonight. Let's go."

…..

Graham was sitting at his desk, eyes closed and feet propped up on his desk. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he was asleep. As it was, she had discovered that this was just the way Graham organized thoughts in his mind. She rolled her eyes at him. There had to be a way to get him to put his somewhat impressive mental abilities into a more practical system they could both benefit from.

She paused at his door, half wanting to watch him fall out of his chair and half not wanting to disturb him. Her better-natured side won out, and she knocked softly on the door frame instead of simply yelling out his name.

He opened his warm, brown eyes and smiled at her presence. "Emma! You're early."

She shrugged. "Lot's to do, thought I'd get a start on it."

Letting his feet hit the floor, he spun round in his chair to face her. "Actually, I'm glad. I need you to go with me on a patrol."

Giving him a small smirk, she said, "Can't handle it on your own?"

He rose quickly. "Of course I can," he replied firmly, but the seriousness left his face to be replaced with a genuine grin. "But you need the experience. Besides, it's just a break-in at Marco Boscaiolo's house."

Emma squared her shoulders and adjusted her badge. "Fine. Let's go."

...

 _Marco Boscaiolo._ The name reverberated with her for some reason. She puzzled over it the whole drive and still couldn't place where she had heard that name.

Graham sat next to her in the driver's seat, merrily chatting away as they made their way through town. "So, Marco called this morning to report a window broken in the old shop. He said some of his woodworking tools had been stolen. Marco's pretty fanatical about his stuff. There's an old wood-right shop out behind his house that's been in his family for generations."

Emma nodded, humming mindlessly along to the radio, trying to sort out her thoughts. Apparently, Marco's shop was about as far out of town as you could get without actually crossing the border, and the drive over took longer than she expected. However, by the time she had arrived, she had placed where she had heard of Marco.

"Belle," she said out loud.

Graham turned to look at her funny. "What's that?"

"Oh, nothing. Just, when I first moved here, I was doing research on my house and Belle, the librarian, suggested I talk to Marco about it. He's the town historian?" She asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Suppose so. He's a history professor at any rate. Retired now. I guess if anyone would know about the history of this town it would be him." He turned sharply down a gravel road thick with large oak and pine trees. "We're almost there, I swear," he said with a laugh.

Emma returned the grin and said, "He must like his privacy."

"Dunno." Graham replied. "Haven't seen much of him."

She blinked, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. At last, he turned to her and shook his head. "Sorry, that was terrible."

"Just promise me you won't try to become a stand-up comedian and we'll be alright."

"Deal." Graham agreed. They exited the car together and approached what was essentially a log cabin with a wrap-around porch. _Geez, the guy must really wood,_ she thought, noticing how all the furniture on the porch looked hand carved from the same timber as the house.

After knocking a couple of times and announcing themselves, they were greeted at the door by an elderly but keen-eyed old man. He gestured for them to come in where he immediately offered to make them some tea.

Emma declined, but Graham accepted and Marco rushed off to the kitchen. Emma took the time to look around Marco's living room, taking in all the books and bookshelves he had. They covered nearly every wall, some stretching floor to ceiling. The room was pretty basic: a sofa, a couple of wing-back chairs flanking a stone fireplace, and a desk with modern amenities including a rather impressive computer. She guessed it was all for his work in academia.

Marco returned with a tray and begged them to sit. As he offered the cup to Graham, he spoke, "So, Sheriff, have you seen the damage to the shop yet? Those vandals have completely made a mess of the place." He looked so saddened by this, Emma couldn't help feel bad for him. Clearly this shop of his meant a great deal.

"Not, yet, Marco. We'll head there next. What can you tell us about the break-in?"

Marco told them how he found the door smashed, the shop floor in disarray, and several old and very valuable tools missing from their cases. Graham promised to do a thorough sweep of the area and see if he could find any clues about who might have broken in.

Emma moved to go with Graham when he stopped her. "Emma, stay here a bit while I check out the surrounding woods for tracks. Marco seems pretty upset, and I think you might be better than I am at reassuring him."

Emma wanted to protest, but held her tongue. She knew Graham was trying to keep her out his way while he investigated, but he did have a point about Marco. The man was near to tears over the break-in and was taking the whole thing quite hard. And then again, she had to admit she was a bit curious about his knowledge of Misthaven as well. "Fine. But I'm going with you to check out the shop."

Graham sighed, but agreed. "I'll be back in about an hour."

Once Graham was gone, Emma went to Marco and as sincerely as she could, began to ask him about his shop.

"Twas my grandpapa's. He came here from the old country in 1889. He built this place and the wood-right shop with his own two hands." Marco sighed sadly, staring down at his own weathered hands. "He was a master carpenter. Could practically build anything. Built a fair amount of homes around Storybrooke."

Something occurred to Emma. "Did he work on Misthaven Cottage?"

Marco's eyes lit up for the first time. "Ah! I thought it might be you. I had heard there was a new owner. Yes, it's true. Grandpapa Gepetto helped to build the cottage. He claimed he never built a finer house in all his life." The old man reached over and gave Emma a little pat on the arm.

"What can you tell me about it?" She asked, as he poured himself another cup of tea.

Marco studied her intently, before placing his cup of tea back on the tray. "About it, or about _him_."

If he had slapped her in the face, she wouldn't have been more stunned. "I...I don't—"

Marco chuckled. "Come now. No need for that. I know all about the ghost that haunts Misthaven, just as I suspect you do."

Emma was completely floored. "But...how?"

Smiling, Marco stood and walked to his desk, pulling out a small folder and bringing it to her. "I grew up listening to the stories my grandpapa told me about the house. He always claimed the wood he used had magic properties. He also swore to me he kept seeing a man. He would appear and disappear at will. He never interacted with him, but he believed in his presence all the same. Years later, my father was hired by some of the later tenants to do some upgrades on the house. He, too, claimed to have seen a ghost. He said the man was dark and handsome, with eyes like a storm upon the ocean."

"And you? Have you seen him?" Emma asked, feeling a bit as if she were floating.

"Aye, a time or two. I must admit, though, I was always to afraid to approach him. So, I did the next best thing." He pointed down at the folder that was in her hands, all but forgotten. It contained some sort of an essay. Looking at the first page, she suddenly realized she recognized the words. "You...your _Professor_ Boscaiolo! I've read this paper on the internet. It's all about Jones."

She was so excited over the coincidence, she didn't realize the slip she made until it was too late.

Marco's eyes went wide. "You've met him, haven't you? Not just seen him...actually spoken with him."

 _Great, Emma. How are you going to get out of this one?_ "I-" she started, and suddenly it all fell apart. "Yes. I've talked with him several times. He's...we're...friends... now...I think."

The old man fell silent, watching her with wide-eyed interest and a hint of longing. "Yes. Yes. Good. I always thought how lonely he must be, up there with no one to care for him. It seemed like the most miserable of existences. Especially as his life was quite filled with pain as well."

Emma agreed sadly. "More than you can imagine." She sighed heavily. "I wish I knew a way to help him."

"What makes you think you aren't?" Marco asked.

She shrugged in answer, staring at the intricate patterns of the rug.

It's at that moment that Graham returned, breaking the strange spell she had been under. Marco went back to his previous pleasant demeanor, their conversation left behind.

"You ready, Swan?" Graham asked, and she inwardly cringed. _He was not allowed to call her Swan._ That honor belonged to someone else.

"Sure. Mr. Boscaiolo, it has been very nice to meet you." Emma said sincerely, taking his offered hand.

Leaning in, he whispered, just out of ear shot of the Sheriff, "I hope you will come back, soon Ms. Swan. There is more to his story than you know."

Leaving her puzzling over his cryptic, she muttered a goodbye and followed after Graham, who thankfully had remained oblivious to her distracted state.

"Looks like it was probably Will Scarlet. He's been known to do this kind of thing from time-to-time. The tracks I found leading away from the shop look like they belong to a man who wears his particular brand of boot." They walked down a winding path, back to where Marco's shop sat in the forest. It looked to be similar in size and shape to the house, with the obvious feature of a business sign hanging out front. Emma barely noticed. She was still trying to work out what Marco had been hinting at.

"Em? Emma?" Graham called back to her. "You alright? You seem a bit lost."

Emma looked up and met Graham's concerned look with a weak smile. "Sorry, just worried about Marco."

Graham seemed to accept this and motioned to the side door of the shop where glass was scattered all around. "This is the point of entry. Whoever did this wasn't too concerned with precision. Definitely more a smash-and-grab deal. Which also fits with Scarlet's profile."

Forcing herself back to the present, Emma withdrew her iPhone and began snapping pictures like she had learned to do earlier in the week. They went inside, checking for more clues, which amounted to a scrap from a torn flannel shirt and a few prints on some of the equipment. It didn't take more than an hour overall, and soon they were headed back into town to put together a case against Will Scarlett.

Although it was still light out, the day was rapidly fading away, and it was becoming obvious the case would probably have to wait until tomorrow, when they could get a judge to issue a search warrant for Will's house.

Out of nowhere, Graham appeared behind her and said, "Hey, um, Emma. Can I ask you something?" He blushed, turning the apples of his cheeks a dusty pink. "It's a bit late, and I was hungry, not that you aren't hungry or anything, but I thought maybe we could, you know, eat together." He was rambling on so fast it took a moment for her to catch up. "Anyway, it's not a date or anything, just two people, sitting down, eating a meal. I'll even let you pay for yourself."

Emma froze. He might be saying it wasn't a date, but she knew better. It most certainly was a date of some sort, because the way he was asking was too sincere, too hopeful, to be anything but a date. Her first instinct was to make an excuse and leave, find any reason not to go. But that was the old Emma. The broken, insecure Emma.

This was the new Emma. The one who was ready for some _thing_ with some _one_. And who was to say that Graham wasn't that someone? He was nice enough to look at, he was kind, sweet and a bit goofy, he was also dedicated and sincere about his job (which he often took great pains to conceal). What would really be so bad about just seeing what might happen?

Brushing her hair back nervously, she opened her mouth and said, "Okay."

Now, it was his turn to freeze. "Okay?"

She nodded, feeling a smile creeping up over her lips. "Yeah. I'd like that."

His grin spread all the way to his ears, making the fluttering in her chest spread to her stomach. Immediately, he darted for the door, throwing it open for her, and motioning with his other hand. "Well, then, Deputy, shall we?"


	13. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I messed up. Sorry about that. I posted chapter 14 instead of 13, so here is the chapter that was supposed to be there. I'm sorry if you have been readiing/following and are now completely lost. Also, I hope this clears up any confusion about the story line....

Confrontation

Swan was late. She was never late. And she was late.

 _Where the bloody devil is she?_ He wondered, pacing the room for the seventieth time, trying not to stare out into the darkness at the empty driveway where her little yellow contraption should be. Despite this, his mind went to all sorts of nasty places, imagining scenarios where she was lying on the ground, bleeding out from some criminal miscreant, to her walking along the beach hand and hand with some suitor, smiling and kissing, and…

"Bloody hell," he cursed again, running a hand through his hair.

Really, he had absolutely no right to be upset. He had no claim on the woman. What she did in her own time was her own business. They were basically friends, and that was all. Right?

Besides, there was nothing he had to offer her that she needed. Maybe she had indeed found a beau. She had been taking more time than usual to get herself ready these last few days. Perhaps a man at the Sheriff's station had caught her eye? He shuddered at the thought, feeling (if it was even possible) sick to his stomach.

Running a hand over his face, he looked once more out the window and sighed defeatedly. He knew so little of Swan's life outside of this house. Once again, the cold truth of his confinement gnawed at his nerves, making him want to break something. He was trapped. Chained. Lock up.

Left behind.

Alone.

So terribly _alone_.

He had to stop this. It would serve no purpose but to drive her further away and destroy what was left of his fragile existence. He had to think of her. Her happiness, her well-being, that was what was important now. And if she had found someone, well, then…he would be happy. For her.

So why did the thought leave such a bitter taste on his tongue?

Finally, he heard the approach of her strange vessel and heaved a sigh of relief. He had to restrain himself from rushing to her side when she bounded through the door, her son just ahead, skipping and jabbering on about things he could not understand. Swan would never stand for him appearing in front of Henry (While she was around, at any rate. She was still oblivious to his nightly visits to watch over her sleeping lad. How he told him stories in his slumber to help him settle when he was restless. Or the gift he had left. No, she never need know of his indiscretions concerning the boy.)

"So, W- _R_ oland has an Xbox and like, a million games, mom." He exclaimed, throwing his bag and coat into the corner. "And his _rr_ oom is the size of our entiwa house! And he said next yeaw, his dad is going to buy him a pony! Isn't that cool? He said I could wi- _ri_ de it, cause weah fwiends."

Emma smiled wearily at her son and ruffled his hair. "You really like it here, don't you?"

He grinned up at her with his cocoa brown eyes full of affection. "Stowybwooke? Yeah! It's the best."

"Good," she sighed, looking around the empty room with an oddly guilty conscious. She shook it off. _You didn't do anything wrong, Emma. It was just dinner. NOT a date._ So why the guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach?

It wasn't something she wanted to process right now, not with everything else. _Change of subject? Yes please._ "Oh, this weekend, I told your grandparents we'd come for a visit. You up for a drive, kiddo?"

Henry nodded emphatically, kicking off his shoes under the coffee table.

Stifling a yawn with the back of one hand, with the other, Emma pushed her boy up the stairs. "Come on, then, Prince Henry. Off to bed. I didn't mean to pick you up so late."

"'S okay, mom. And it's Piwate Pw- _Pr_ ince…Henry." He ran up the stairs to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. Emma yawned again, going to his room, picking up his scattered clothes and toys as she went.

Before she even had his plastic ships and Lego knights thrown back into the toy box, he had returned, dressed and ready for bed. He climbed in, picking up the book she had tossed on the covers, and looked up at her tired eyes. "It's okay, mom. You need to sleep."

She blinked a few times and frowned. "You don't want a story?"

He shrugged, pulling the blankets up over himself. She fought off the sudden surge insecurity at his actions, as he yawned, too. "Nah. I'm good tonight."

She forced a smile. It wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. "Okay. But tomorrow, we're finishing _Peter Pan_."

"Pwomise?" He asked blurrily, his eyes already closing.

She planted a small kiss on his forehead. "Promise. Night, kid."

"Night, mom."

Emma drug herself to her room, overcome with confusion and exhaustion. All she wanted was sleep. Deep, dreamless sleep.

"Welcome back, milady." Killian stated the second her door was open. He had clearly been pacing in front of the window, and his hair was in disarray about his head. The second she walked in though, the lines of worry smoothed from his face. She really wanted not to notice that.

_Guess sleep's off the menu._

"Jones, not tonight. I can barely keep my eyes open." Her arms felt like lead weights as she shuffled over to her dresser and retrieved her pajamas.

He chuckled, sitting down at the foot of her bed, waiting for her to join him. "Well then, love, just go ahead and close your eyes. It's a shame to deprive you of my dashing appearance, but I can tell when a woman needs her rest."

"Jones," she groaned, pulling off her clothes and slipping on a night shirt and shorts. It never occurred to her that he was watching.

"Uh, Swan…" His voice came out sounding funny and hoarse.

Suddenly realizing exactly what she had just done, she paled and ran for the safety of the covers.

Laughing lightly, he said, "Never fear, Swan. I'm a ghost, remember. Your virtue is safe with me."

 _Not bloody likely,_ she thought to herself.

He leaned over the bed, a gentle smile on his lips, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Now, go to sleep, love. I'm not going anywhere."

And really, it shouldn't have made her heart beat as rapidly as it did, but his words just pierced something deep inside her. It felt like a vise around her heart she hadn't even been aware had just unclamped itself.

"Jones?" She whispered into the dark.

"Yes?" He replied, nearly as breathlessly as her own. Even in the bare sliver of moonlight, she could tell he was watching her intently, always keen to know what she was thinking.

"Tell me a story."

The weight of the request settled between them like sleeping tiger. "Aye, lass. I shall tell you a story. Of what would you like to hear?"

She sat up, needing to see him, to see the expression on his face, whether it was soft and longing, or sad and melancholy. It was neither, and she grew frustrated that she couldn't tell what he was thinking right now. "Tell me about Milah."

His face hardened, but his eyes met hers and she could see the moment he relented written upon them. "Aye, I did promise you that story, didn't I? I fear though, lass, it is not the stuff of pleasant dreams."

The previous exhaustion was already melting away. "I want to know what she did, Killian. Why have you spent all this time stuck here over her?" Leaning in, she reached out for his hand upon her cover, silently asking him for permission. When he didn't pull away, she continued upon a path she couldn't bring herself to stop.

White hot sparks flew up from her hand the instant she made contact, hotter, more real than any of their previous dalliances. She almost drew back her hand in shock, but she managed to keep it there. Almost immediately, the heat settled into something stranger, less like pins and needles, more like too much sunlight on bare skin. Warm, pleasant at times, but very near to burning. It kept spreading. Up her arm, her shoulder, neck, down her chest and other arm, all the way to the tips of her toes and fingers.

"Killian, do you feel that?" She asked wonderously, looking up at him in awe from where their hands met.

The sadness in his eyes was answer enough. "Nay, love. I cannot."

What he couldn't tell her though, was that he felt a sensation of an entirely different kind. If he had to put a name to it, he would have said that he knew now what it felt like to touch her soul.

And her eyes were so full of amazement, so amazingly green and bright, and…

He leaned forward, unable to stop himself.

She held her breath and waited. She wanted this as much as he did.

He closed the last few inches of space between them, sighed, and kissed her.

Emma would have liked to say her mind exploded, her world was rocked, that everything that had been building between them suddenly made sense.

But it was just a kiss. And all she felt upon her lips was the brush of a warm breeze, barely even feeling the sensation of him there at all. It wasn't fair. This whole damn situation was so monumentally fucked up. And it was just so unfair.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and pulled away.

His eyes fell as she took back her hand.

"Emma, I-"

"Don't," she interrupted tersely. "Please, just… don't. We both know this thing between us…it can't work." She brushed her cheeks, swiping away the dampness she refused to acknowledge was there. "So let's not pretend it can." _We're only going to end up getting hurt in the end._

His face fell, but he nodded in agreement. "As you wish, love."

He moved to stand, but she put out a hand to stop him (yet not daring to touch him). "Killian. I didn't mean…I don't want you to go, I just…we're still friends." It was almost a question, and the pleading note of her voice very nearly undid him.

"Of course."

She seemed to relax, and he knew he had to break the tension he had caused. "Very well, lass. And as your friend, I will tell you all about Milah, but only if you promise me something."

She knit her brow, but agreed.

"I want you to speak to this Mr. Gold. I want you to tell him how you feel about what he has done to you."

She balked, shaking her head. "No, I can't… he hates me. I-"

He scooted closer to her on the bed, unable to stop himself. "No, love. I don't believe that is the case. I think there may something else there. Perhaps he is hurting and angry, too. You once told me he loved Neal like a son, yes?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Maybe he's in pain and is trying to find relief in the only way he can. Anyway, it matters not. You are hurting because of this, and I think you need to confront him, face your fears, and tell him how his actions have hurt you."

"Why?"

He sighed. How was he supposed to tell her that he was trying to ensure her happiness so that he could let her go? So that she could have a chance at the life she was meant to have? "Because, your anger and fear is holding you back, love. Look, all I am asking is for you to promise to think about it. To give yourself a chance at making peace, once and for all."

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, but she was able to agree to his demand.

He seemed pleased. "Very well, Swan. Let me tell you about Milah."

He began the tale with their meeting at a tavern. How Milah had caught his eye and offered to buy him a drink. He had been smitten with her from the first, but she had remained aloof about her past, teasing him, asking him instead about his travels. Over the course of a year, he had returned to port often only to find her waiting for him at the same tavern. And they had fallen in love.

One day, she had asked him to take her away, to find a place for them to be together, far from the crowded sea port town where they met. So he did. He bought a small, meager house on an island off the coast of Wales, and for almost two years, they lived simply and happily. He was gone months at a time on orders for the king, but he would always return to find her open and waiting. On his last journey, he had decided it was time to make her his wife.

All he knew of Milah's past was that she claimed to be a widow, that she had been married to a Count, but had rejected the title after his death, and had left to pursue a life of adventure and passion. She never said anything, but Killian could tell that Milah had been very badly treated by her husband, and so he took great pains to bring joy to her life.

Arriving home, he received a notice that Milah had returned to her estate outside London to visit her estranged sister, and that he was to meet her there. Upon landing the Jolly, he dismissed his crew, and waited aboard his ship for her to meet him.

Instead, who he met was Milah's _not-dead_ husband, Count Rumple, and his armed men. The Count teased and taunted about how Milah ran away because she had only been sewing her royal oats as it were, but that she had at last come to her senses and returned to the life she was born to.

"I would have laughed the man off my ship for his gall, Swan, if not for the note," Killian stated flatly. Emma recalled how he had looked in her dream after reading that letter. It was if his entire world had completely burned to ash. "There was no doubt it was from Milah, as I would recognize the elegant script of her hand anywhere"

In it, she apologized for not telling him that her husband was still alive, that even though he may have once been a cruel man, she realized that she still loved him, and that he had promised to change. She also explained that she was bound by law to the Count and that if Killian came after her, he would placing himself in danger. She wished him well and told him to find a new love and a new life without her.

And then, the Count cut off his hand and stilled his heart, but not before telling him the real reason for Milah's betrayal.

"She had discovered she was pregnant and had flew back to her husband, knowing he could offer her and the babe everything that I could not. Money, power, luxuries beyond imaginings." His voice petered out, the strength he had been carrying failing him entirely.

There were tears spilling down Emma's cheeks by the time he finished. Flashbacks to the dream and the raw violence of what happened to him, coupled with the bitterness of the betrayal left her feeling like an exposed nerve.

In that moment, she hated Milah for what she did. _Hated_ her with a passion she had never felt before. Then, she remembered the other dream, and the way the woman had pleaded with her for Killian's sake. It didn't make sense. Her gut was telling her that there must be more to the story. Why would a woman who couldn't wait to get back to her husband visit her in a dream and plead for Killian's safety?

Meanwhile, Killian had told his story as emotionlessly as he could, reciting it like any other tale from his long years. But as he drew to a close, she could see the supreme effort it had taken for him to finish.

"Lass, I must beg your pardon, but I feel the need to…uh, retire…for the moment."

Emma looked up sharply, really looked at him, seeing the tired droop in his shoulders, the way the memories swam in his eyes, the way his face seemed burdened with pain. But she couldn't let him be alone, not after that.

"Stay," she offered, nervously tucking a loose strand of hair over her ear. She slid over on her bed to make room. "Please. You shouldn't be alone."

Looking off to the distance, he shook his head, "No, Swan. I cannot. Besides, this is not your burden to bear."

"Bullshit!" She exclaimed, louder than she had meant to. "Don't give me that." God, she wished she could slap him, shake him, kiss him senseless, until all the hurt just _evaporated_. "I decide what I can and can't handle."

He eyed her curiously, dragging his hand up to scratch his ear, a sudden light dancing behind his eyes. "And can you handle it?" he purred, biting off the 't' and tilting down his head so that he could look at her through his lashes.

 _Damn it! How does he do that?_ "I know exactly what you are doing, buddy, and it's not going to work."

"Oh?" He taunted with a quirk of his lips and brow. "And just what is _it_ that I'm doing?"

_If he doesn't cut it out with that damn clipped 't' thing, I'm going to scream._

"You're deflecting. Trying to pretend you're not hurting. I know that trick way too well. And let me tell you, it doesn't work on me." She raised her own brow in challenge.

The light which had burned hot as the sun just moments before, quickly dimmed to that of a distant star. "Very well, then, Swan. If the lady so commands, I shall stay. But I make no promises for my behavior while she's asleep," he added with a wink and a wide smirk.

She swiped her arm at him, forgetting that he wouldn't feel it, as her arm met no resistance. "Jerk," she mumbled, wishing more than anything she could bring back the fleeting flicker of something she had seen in him. But she was so drained, and so was he, that she just didn't have it in her to keep fighting. Not tonight. Feeling the onset of another round of yawns approaching, she muttered, "Just keep your hands to yourself," as she wiggled down further under the covers.

"How would you know if I didn't?" He chuckled softly, laying down next to her as she tilted her head towards him. Propping himself up on his elbow, he tucked his bad arm under his chin and stared down at her.

She stared back, unamused. "Believe me, Jones. I would know. And there would be hell to pay."

He smiled at her, watery but genuine, as her eyes drifted shut on their own accord. "Aye, I've no doubt. Sleep now, Swan, for morning comes all too swiftly."

Too soon, her breathing slowed, the lines in her face smoothed. He watched her sleep, perched as he was above her. She was a golden goddess, so ethereal and unreal, that at times, he was certain that he had found Heaven and she was the angel meant to lead him home. He reached for her hair spilled out across the pillow, watching his hand drift through it, and wishing just once that he could feel the softness of the strands. But all he felt was the hollow emptiness inside himself. "Gods, but you are beautiful, Emma," he whispered into her skin.

Her lips lifted in a slight smile, but she remained otherwise asleep.

He should go and leave her in peace. And yet, he could not, because she had asked him to stay. And because he knew that nothing in the world could tear him from her side as long as she needed him.

…..

 _What the hell am I doing?_ She thought worriedly as she heard the little tinkling bell that announced her presence. _It's not too late to run, Emma. Maybe he's not even here. Just go, Jones will never know. No one will ever know you were here. And that you failed._

That sobered her and she shook off the panic, looking around for the first time.

There had been significant changes at Gold's Pawn Shop since last she was here. First, there was the obvious addition of a burly security guy who looked like he had just been plucked off the WWE circuit. Then there was the new, high tech security system. That alone nearly made her walk right out. At the trial, Gold blamed the faulty security system for the ease in which Greg and Tamara were able to break into the shop without Neil knowing. It was also the source of the funds from the settlement. She mentally rolled her eyes. _It only took Neil's death to replace that stupid thing. It should have been done 10 years ago when I broke in here the first time._ Even the display cases were new. _Must have been because the old ones were covered in Neal's blood. That's kind of hard to scrub away._

God, she was morbid today. This wasn't helping.

Really, of all the things to dissolve her courage into nothing, she never would have thought it was the way the place smelled. The smell was exactly the same as it was 10 years ago. Exactly the same as it was every time she came here to visit Neal since. Old leather, dusty carpet, grime and dirt, and greed. She could swear she smelled the greed.

Her hands were trembling before she was even aware, and suddenly her legs felt numb. _I can't do this. Why did I think this was a good idea?_ She shoved her hands in her pockets so that the vibrations wouldn't be so visible to the guard who was now staring her down. And that's when she felt it. Killian's compass. She had picked up as she was leaving, just knowing that she might need it for the task ahead.

The second her fingers brushed across the cool metal, it was almost as if Killian was there with her. She felt the weight of his presence settle upon her and it gave her the strength she needed.

Just then, Gold himself limped out from a back room. He was always a well-dressed man, even had a gold topped cane to go along with the three piece suit and polished sneer he always wore on his lips. However, today, he took one look at her and the carefully maintained façade melted away.

"Mrs. Cassidy?" He called out, taking an unsteady step forward. She couldn't tell if his nerves were from the shock of seeing her in his shop or if it was because he was afraid she had come to do him harm. Or if he was just really, really angry with her.

"It's Swan, now, actually." She answered, breathing in and forcing her feet to propel her towards him.

Then it was back, the look of condescension and unpleasantness that she always associated with the man. "Of course."

Emma clutched at the compass tighter, drawing herself up. "I suppose you are wondering why I'm here."

"It had occurred to me, dearie, that you might be here to ask me to drop the case against you." He interlaced his hands over the cane head and inclined his head, waiting for her to make the next move.

"No."

His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed immediately after. "No?"

She nodded, feeling surprisingly confident. "I'm not going to ask you to do that. I'm just here to tell you my side of things. If, after I've finished, you still want to take this to court, well then, be my guest."

She could see how much she was shocking him even though he was trying to remain poker-faced. "And why should I let you talk, hmmm? Why shouldn't I have my friend here throw you out. After all, the last time we had a 'talk,' you nearly assaulted me."

Her hands clenched hard enough together, she was sure she had drawn blood. "Yes, but I didn't! I restrained myself because my family—my son—were counting on me. Because your actions got his father, their son, killed!" She was seething now, but steady enough to keep going. "And in the end, they mean more to me than revenge on you, Gold."

He was flexing his jaw and his fingers were turning white as the steadied themselves on the cane. She could see the turmoil boiling under his skin. At any moment, he would strike out. _Like a crocodile,_ she thought.

"Very good for you, Ms. Swan, but what has that to do with me. As I recall, you were unable to prove my involvement in your husband's death."

She let out a long sigh, forcing the anger back. She needed to be as calm as possible for what came next. "Mr. Gold, I came here today to tell you that ..." she shuddered, briefly closing her eyes, "...I understand. I understand that you cared a great deal for Neal and that you thought you were helping him. I know Neal probably came to you, asked for your help. And I know it was never your intention for things to end up the way they did."

It was as if someone had struck the man with lightning. All he could do was blink at her furiously.

She pressed her luck and took another step forward, close enough where she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. He didn't even try to back up or move away. "Mr. Gold, I know how badly you were hurt. I know it must have felt as if you had just lost you own son. And I know that the guilt you felt for your part in his death has consumed you, left you empty and dark." Her breath shuddered, and she could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I…" He faltered, taking a step back and nearly collapsing.

"Neal wouldn't have wanted to see us like this. There was a time when we did get along, when we were almost a… a family." She withdrew her hands from her pockets and let them hover in the air near his. "I just want you to know that, despite the part you played, I f—" _God, this was so hard! Why was this so fucking hard?_

"Ms. Swan…" he choked hoarsely, "Emma... Don't. I don't deserve your forgiveness." The mask dropped away, and inside, she could see that he was _broken._

Her hands fell upon his, clasping them in a tight embrace. Gold's hands were warmer than she had expected, and the thin, wrinkled skin was a shocking reminder that he was not the monster she had always made him out to be. He was just a lonely, frail old man in desperate need of compassion. And truthfully, she pitied him. Emma could feel the weight Neil's death had caused finally lifting from her. She was no longer afraid of Gold or her past or any of it. She felt _free_.

"Maybe not. But this was not for you. It was for me. I don't want to be shackled to the anger and pain of the past. I want to move on and try to find happiness again. So, I just want you to know, Mr. Gold, that I forgive you."

And with that, she let him go, turned around and walked out, never once looking back. Passing through the door was like stepping under a waterfall of sheer elation, washing away all the filth and dark despair, everything that had been holding her back. Her feet practically floated down the street. As she walked back to the loft where her in-laws and Henry waited for her, she pulled out the compass. Turning it over in her hands, she pressed it tightly to her chest and laughed like she hadn't in years.

She had just saved herself, now it was time to save her captain.


	14. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is now where it belongs.

"I'm very glad you came, Ms. Swan," Marco said as he padded his way to the sofa. Emma took off her jacket, still soaked from the sudden spring downpour and found a seat opposite him.

"I need to ask you about what you said the last time I was here." She fidgeted in the seat, trying to get comfortable, but the whole nature of this conversation was making her uneasy. Logically, she knew she shouldn't be talking about the ghost in her house to anyone. There was too much at stake. However, she sensed that Marco had at least some of the answers she needed.

He nodded, placing his chin on his hands. "Yes, of course. What would you like to know?"

Her fingers traced a pattern on the upholstery of the chair as she gathered her thoughts. "In your article, you said that Killian Jones was an exemplary naval captain up until his sudden traitorous turn to piracy. Do you know of any reason why he would have done that? Given up his life and livelihood to become the thing he had fought against all his life?"

"Well, Ms. Swan, I don't believe that he did ever turn pirate. I think it was a fabrication."

_Yahtzee. Good answer, old man._

Schooling her features, so as to not let her eagerness show, Emma asked, "Why would someone have done that."

The wry old man leaned back, eyes to the ceiling. "Ms. Swan, have you been in love before?" He shook his head almost immediately, "No, don't answer that, I was merely making a point. As you probably know, love is messy. It's very easy, even when you have deep emotions for someone, to have problems communicating, to not open yourself fully, to not trust the other person."

"Where are you going with this?" Emma said, digging her nails into the seat.

Marco seemed to sense her distress and smiled kindly. "Just that I believe the true cause of Captain Jones' death was that he simply fell in love."

 _Milah._ "How would that have caused him to be labeled a pirate?"

"Come now, you said you have spoken with the Captain, I'm sure you know the story. At least, what he probably believes to be the story." His eyes twinkled with some sort of secret knowledge.

Her mouth went dry. "What do you mean?"

Marco stood, his bones creaking, and walked to the desk with his research, "Ms. Swan," he called, waving her over. "I have something to show you."

Joining him, Swan looked down at a piece of faded umber paper encased in a protective sheet of plastic. "What is that?"

"A letter." He held it out to her and her hands trembled as she took it.

"I don't understand," she mumbled, staring at the curved, fine script devouring on the page.

"It took me years to find what you have in your hand. As I told you, Captain Jones has been a lifelong obsession of mine, and when I wrote that article you read, I thought I had the man figured out. But in the course of my research, I stumbled upon several accounts of Killian Jones' involvement with a Countess named Milah. Understandably, I was curious as to their connection." He paused leaning against the wall, his eye shut as if seeing the story play out. "Did you know that the man who had Captain Jones executed was none other than Milah's husband?"

"Yes," she whispered. "He told me."

He nodded at her, but didn't open his eyes. "And no doubt that he also told you that Milah betrayed him, that she gave him up to the mercies of the Count so that she could return to her previous life."

"Yes." Her heart was racing, and the paper in her hand quivered, but she was too stunned to move.

"Read the letter, Ms. Swan. It was written shortly after the Captain's death. And I think it will provide you and the Captain with the answers you seek."

She frowned. "I still don't understand."

"It's a confession. Milah was pregnant and she knew she was dying, so she poured out her sins to her sister in this letter."

It suddenly felt so heavy in her hand. This was the message that she had seen the woman writing. Her confession. The real reason behind the betrayal.

Marco chuckled to himself. "The funny thing, Ms. Swan, as I'm sure you will find when you read that, is that before she died, she found a way to avenge Captain Jones all on her own. I've no doubt that the reason his spirit has been trapped in this plane of existence is because he thought he deserved justice for the wrongs done to him. And she found a way to right some of those wrongs. You see, at nearly nine months pregnant and weak from consumption, Milah was still hale enough to slit her husband's throat as he slept."

"Oh my god!" Emma exclaimed, clasping her hands to her mouth. "She murdered him?"

He was staring at her now, trying to convey something in his glance. "Can you imagine the will power needed to do such a thing? What could possibly have driven her to that point?"

Reluctantly, she willed herself to understand. Only sheer hatred of the Count could have driven her to an act that brutal. Hatred and a fierce need to protect her unborn child before it could be subjected to the evil of a vile man. That was something Emma could understand. A mother would do anything for her child.

"Thank you, Marco. Thank you so much. I…I'll bring this back just as soon as…" she cut off. What was she going to do now? Should she tell Killian the truth? Get him to move on? Faced with the possibility of his departure, she realized how much she didn't want him to go.

He nodded, waving her away. "Go. Do what you need to. That man deserves some peace after all he's suffered. Just promise me that one day, you'll tell me the story. Of how you came to be…ah, yes…friends."

Clutching the letter delicately to her chest, Emma agreed to his request, thanked him and rushed from the house as if her life depended on it.

_What am I going to do?_

…..

Thankfully, there was always work as a distraction. She pulled into the parking lot and flew into the station like a whirlwind, calling out to Graham about how she was sorry she was late.

He came out of his office and smiled at her, the same way he had been doing since their non-date a week ago. "Great, Emma, you're here. Now I have someone to help me finish off these bear claws." He held out a box of pastries and wiggled his eye brows suggestively.

It felt good to joke around, to pretend that, for a while, everything was normal. And what she wanted right now, was just that— _normal_. A quiet, happy life. That's all she wanted.

_Wasn't it?_

How was a ghost going to fit into a normal life? He wasn't. It wasn't fair for either of them to try, either. She had to let him know, she had to set him free, to give him the choice to find his happiness, too.

"What's that you have, there?" Graham called, nudging her in the shoulder as he pointed to the letter she still had in her hand.

"Um, evidence?" She supplied, putting the paper down on her desk and pulling up a chair. He quirked a brow at her and shot her a quick _I-don't-believe-you-but-I'm-not-messing-with-it_ look.

"Are you already so bored that you're solving the cold cases?" He grinned. "You really need to relax. Speaking of, Ruby told me to remind you that book club was tonight. I didn't know you we're so into reading, Swan." Graham teased.

"Um, sure. I like to read," _Book club? Oh, right! Ladies' night at the Rabbit Hole. Drowning away this mess in booze and banal conversation sounds perfect._

"Well, then, as soon as your done reviewing your 'evidence,' I've got another box of reading materials that need to be sorted."

She groaned at him, but he flashed her a cheeky lop-sided grin and retreated to his office.

The moment he was gone, Emma smoothed out the paper and began to read.

…

"You look absolutely breathtaking, darling," Killian announced with a innuendo-laded eyebrow raise.

She scanned down her body and back up, eying his reflection in the bathroom mirror with suspicion. "Huh?" It was just some short black skirt, ankle boots and a royal blue blouse she had thrown together. Nothing was special about it except for the fact that she never really wore these sorts of clothes.

"I have to say, Swan, not that I don't appreciate the attire you are accustomed to, but this look suits you." _Him and his silly 18_ _th_ _Century values. Probably thinks I'm quite scandalous when I wear pants. And change in front of him.  
_

She chuckled a bit to herself and went back to finishing up her hair. Looking over it in the mirror, she debated whether to gather up the thick curls into a high pony, or let them fall loose. Settling on having it out of her face for the night, she pulled it back and secured it with an elastic. "So you like my clothes?"

"No, Swan. The smile. You should wear one more often." He gave her a devilishly handsome smirk, and she bit her lip.

 _How did he always do that?_ She blushed hotly. "You'd probably love it if I wore those old fashioned dresses that needed a corset and an army of maids to cinch you up."

She caught the way his eyes darkened in her peripheral vision, and laughed to herself. He muttered something like, "Gods, love. You have no idea."

Briefly smiling at him, she turned back to finish putting on her mascara. "Do you think this is too much mascara?"

"What's that, love?"

She waved the make-up brush in his face and said, "The black color, on my lashes. Is it too heavy?"

She tilted her head up at him, meaning for it to be an innocent gesture, but their eyes met and then the world around them simply... _vanished_.

 _What are you doing, Emma? I thought we talked about this. Oh my god, were his lashes always that long? And since when were his eyes that shade of blue? It's like he's got the entire ocean inside of him. And that mouth!_ Her body swayed into him, like a magnet.

"Nay, darling," he choked out, nearly as affected by the moment as her. "You're eyes are always extraordinary."

 _Oh, fuck._ She had to stop this. Right now. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if she didn't. _And when did it get so hot in this room?_

Swallowing, she quickly finished with her make-up, completely refusing to look at him.

"Not that it is any of my business, but why are you so concerned about your appearance Swan? Is there someone in particular whom you are expecting to see?" There was no mistaking the pained look and the hurt tone. He was clearly jealous.

"I'm just meeting up with some of the ladies from around town for drinks," she explained, deciding to give the poor guy a break. Instantly, he seemed to relax, even returning her grin.

He leaned back against the door, crossing his arms and kicking one boot atop the other. "And what might you ladies be up to this evening?"

She shrugged, applying a fine mist of her perfume. It smelled like honeysuckle and cinnamon and it helped her feel relaxed. "I don't know. I've never really done this sort of thing. I'm guessing we'll probably drink and gossip and talk about guys. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

_Did I just say the word 'friends'? Is that what they are? It's not like I would know. I've never had any before. I mean, there was Neal, and Mary Margaret, and David. But they were family. This is different._

"Aye. Sounds about right."

Now it was his turn to smile widely, causing his dimples to show. "What?" She asked.

"Ah, it's nothing. But I'm glad to see you opening up to people, Swan. You'll need friends." His care-free mask dropped away, and she wondered at the finality of his tone.

Confused and a bit hurt, Emma smoothed down her dress and whipped around him, out of the bathroom. She noticed that he didn't follow her to her bedroom, and for that she was grateful.

What was she going to do? The whole reason she had agreed to go out was simply because she had been avoiding this, _him,_ all day. And now she was in deeper than ever.

It all came down to that letter.

She had to tell him about it. It was the right thing to do, and he deserved to know. But what would that mean for him? He had been trapped here by his pain and anger. What would happen if it was gone? Would he go, too?

 _What would her life be without Killian_? At the thought, her heart seized, almost as if someone had ripped it from her chest and crushed it to dust.

She didn't want him to go.

But she couldn't justify making him stay. She cared too much about him to keep it hidden from him. Centuries of torment, endless pain, thinking the woman he loved had betrayed him. This was his chance at finding peace, maybe even being with Milah again in the afterlife, or whatever. Maybe even being with his son. Her heart ached with terrible understanding. Killian had a son who had never had the chance to know what a wonderful, loving, amazing person his father had been.

 _I have to tell him about Milah,_ she decided, picking up her favorite leather jacket and donning it like armor.

_Just not right now._

It could wait a little while. Because truthfully, she wasn't nearly ready to let him go. Maybe she could be, in time, though. She just needed to find a way to move on without him.

…..

"EMMA!" Ruby cried so loudly it cut through the blasting rock music coming from the jukebox.

Everyone at the table turned at once to look at her, causing her to blanch and scramble quickly for a seat in the corner. Blushing furiously, Emma stammered out a greeting to the group of ladies and quickly ordered a beer from the waiter.

"We are so, so glad you came," Belle said, offering her a kind, understanding smile.

"Well, you all made it sound like so much fun, I thought I'd come see what all the fuss was about," Emma replied. _Where the hell is that drink? I should have just said a whiskey and leave the bottle._

Emma looked around at the faces at the table. Everyone was merrily chatting and laughing together. Regina, Ruby, and Belle she recognized right away, but the other two, she couldn't quite place. Regina seemed to sense her hesitation and introduced them, "That's Aurora and Ashley," Pointing between a brunette and a blonde, who both waved back. "Aurora owns a B-and-B with her husband Phillip. Ashley's a teacher."

"Pre-K through Third Grade," Ashley supplied, sipping daintily at a pink something-or-other.

"Oh, I think I've seen you at the school," Emma said, finally placing the blonde's face. "I'm Henry's mom."

Ashley's face lit up. "Of course! Henry's such a great kid. He is so imaginative!"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, he loves stories. Practically devours them. Currently he's on a kick about pirates. I've had to read _Peter Pan_ to him twice already."

"Is that why he keeps insisting there's a pirate at your house? I thought maybe his father…"

It was like someone had hit Emma with a bucket of ice water. "What do you mean about the pirate at our house?"

Ashley shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing. He brought in this really interesting old navigational tool used by sailors a long time ago. And he told the class a pirate had given it to him. He said he was living at your house."

 _Killian, that mother fu—_ "Nope. Just his imaginary friend, probably. There is a lot of old stuff up in the attic, though. So that where he must have found it." _She was going to strangle that man. He was going to feel pain even if she had to bring him back to life, just so she could kill him all over again._

"Oh, okay."

Ruby, who had been intently following the conversation, barged in with a flick of her red-streaked hair and a wicked grin and said, "So the rumors aren't true, then?"

 _Oh, no. Nonononono. Nope._ She was not going to go there. "Rumors? I don't know what you mean."

Ruby teased, lips in a wide toothy smile. "Of course you do! The ghost? I'm dying to know if your place is haunted."

Regina cut her off, "Although, Miss Lucas' interest in the paranormal borders on the certifiable, I'm quite interested to hear about that as well. Have you ever seen anything at Misthaven, Ms. Swan?"

Emma was left agape, glancing helplessly between the women who were watching her eagerly, almost as if waiting to pounce. "I—"

Suddenly, Ruby jumped up from the table, startling everyone. "Hey! This is a great song. We should get out there and dance. Emma, why don't you come with me?"

"Wha-" Emma began, but before she could finish, Ruby had grabbed her hand (hard) and had yanked her forward, away from the table. She tried to struggle, not wishing to be further humiliated on a dance floor of all places, but to her surprise, Ruby kept going. She pushed her way through the crowd, leading them to a quieter hallway next to the bathrooms. "What the hell, Ruby?" Emma yelled, pulling her arm away as they stopped.

"Em, wait!" Ruby begged, placing her hand gently on Emma's shoulders. She gave her a look of sincere apology and Emma stilled. She was still furiously angry, though, and merely crossed her arms and turned away.

Ruby continued, "God, Em, I'm sorry. I didn't think. I-We—had no intention of putting you on the spot like that. Please, don't go."

Emma felt the truth in her words, but she was still too vulnerable and hurt. "I don't think this was a good idea."

"No, please!" Ruby cried, putting a gentle pressure on her elbow to try to get Emma to look at her. "Just, stay, talk to me. I am trying to be your friend, honest. Sometimes, I just get a little carried away. Especially about paranormal stuff. Kinda my dirty little secret."

Sighing, Emma relaxed minutely. "Fine. But I'm not going back out there."

Ruby nodded, and smiled. "Okay. No problem. But, Em, can I ask you something. I mean, it would be in total confidence. Just between us, I swear it." Her large, dark eyes pleaded with her for trust.

Emma pushed her hands deep into the jacket, feeling the compass which she had forgotten to remove. It once more brought her comfort. Trust. If she wanted friends, she would need to trust them. Cautiously, Emma nodded.

"Why did you freak out so badly? I mean, I know you have a thing about people, but that wasn't it. You freaked out when you were talking to Ashley about your son, though. I think it had something to do with the ghost."

Reflexively, Emma took a step back. Ruby must have seen the panic in her eyes because immediately responded with, "Hey, it's okay. If you have seen something, and I'm not saying you have, but _if_ , I just want you to know I believe you. You can talk to me."

Emma practically laughed in her face. What was she going to say? _So, here's the thing, Ruby. Yes, there is a ghost in my house. I've not only been talking to him, but I've been having these incredibly, amazingly erotic dreams about him. And that's no even the worst part. The worst part is that I think about him all the time. He's so fucking gorgeous, inside and out, and I feel this connection to him that I have never had with any one in my entire fucking life and I have no idea what to do._

And that's when it hit her. Like a little punch in the gut. She was in love with Killian Jones.

_Oh. Fuck. I'm in love with him._

_I am so screwed._

She looked up, blinking back the hard press of tears. "Ruby, I'm really sorry. I need to go."

…..

_Graham? What was he doing at her house?_

Emma checked on the sleeping form of her son in the back seat of her car, throwing it into park in her driveway. Quietly, she exited and greeted the man who was pacing rather frantically around on her porch. "Graham?"

He looked up at her and gave her a worried smile. "Emma, I wasn't sure when you'd get home. I know you were out with the girls, and I…"

"You're rambling, Sheriff. What's up? Someone vandalize the town sign again?" She leaned back, hands wrapped up inside her jacket to keep off the spring chill of the night.

He began to shuffle, and scratch at his beard. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

Shooting him a disbelieving look, she replied, "You could have just called."

"I know, but…" he looked up at the stars, almost as if asking them for guidance. "Emma, could I come in?"

She frowned, looking back at the car. "Henry's asleep in the back. Let me go put him to bed."

He nodded and added, "Let me help." Gingerly, he pulled Henry from the car and hoisted him into his arm. As he carried the sleeping boy up the stairs, Emma followed, unable to tear her eyes away.

They looked nice together. Henry and Graham. Almost as if they belonged. And that wasn't such a bad thing was it? Henry needed a father-figure. Graham was a good guy. And it wasn't like she wasn't attracted to him.

Her heart clenched as she watched him gently place Henry down up the sheets. "Thank you," she mouthed, offering him a slight smile in gratitude.

"You're welcome," he mouthed back, quirking up one side of his lips in a playful grin. She grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the room and down the stairs.

"So, what did yo—" Her eyes flew wide open in shock as Graham attacked her mouth with his own, barely giving her time to breathe.

_Graham was kissing her!_

Oh god.

He was kissing her…

…and it wasn't awful.

It was actually kind of… _nice_.

She let herself relax into the kiss, closing her eyes and feeling the sensation of his stubble on her chin, the way his soft lips played against hers, the way his arms pulled her into him (hard, but not rough). It felt nice to let go. To stop thinking about it and just give in.

Maybe this could work…maybe…

…

Killian watched in horror, feeling his world implode in on itself.

He had been waiting around in the living room, hoping to ask her how the evening went, when she walked in with a man. A man who was carrying her son, putting him to bed. And oh, how that had stung. Far more than he had been expecting. It should have been him tucking the boy in at night. It should have been him who had spun her round and...

...kissed her...

Swan was kissing someone. She was kissing him and she looked...happy.

It ripped at his gut, slicing away his skin. He should be raging, screaming, tearing the place apart. But he couldn't. It would had been easier if he could hate them. Her. But all he could feel was the crush of his heart in despair.

His Swan no longer needed him.

Scrubbing at his face with both his hands, trying to erase the image burned into his retinas, the sight of his stump, his phantom hand, stopped him short. What was once a constant reminder of his vengeance, was now a reminder of his guilt. He had stolen something that didn't belong to him. And here he was, trying to do the same thing. Swan was not his, she belonged to someone who was whole, someone who could give her everything. He would not trade her future for his own selfish pride. He could not.

Pulling himself back, Killian retreated to the concealing dark recesses of the attic, knowing he was leaving Swan to her happiness.

If he was a better man, that would have brought him some peace. But Killian Jones was not a good man. And all he could feel for her was a hollow ache of rejection and loneliness. It would tear him apart if he let it.

He knew what needed to be done.

He would go. He needed to go. Staying around now would only confuse and hurt her, and he couldn't do that, no matter how much his heart was breaking.

If he had been honest with himself, he had known for a long time exactly how to break free from his confines, but to actually do it, to say the words out loud and mean them, had terrified him. But now, _now_ it was time.

Killian steadied himself against the giant wheel of his beloved ship, thumbing the worn wood handles for possibly the last time, taking strength from the memories contained within. Into the black oblivion he spoke, feeling the weight of honesty behind every syllable. "Milah. I forgive you."

An image of her standing before him came unbidden. She was smiling and holding out her hands to him.

_Come, Killian._

Suddenly, he felt free, weightless. Almost as if physical chains had fallen from his limbs. The chord that had bound his soul to the enchanted wood had snapped, and he could feel it go with a great thundering quake that shook the entire house.

Now, he could go, but not before telling Emma goodbye. He would not abandon her without explanation like so many others had. So, he would wait one more day, bid her farewell, and then….

He was ready to move on.

…

She pulled back sharply, ending the kiss.

"Graham, did you feel that?" She asked, still breathless and in confusion. Had the house just trembled?

He held her still, until he could see she was struggling and let her go. "Emma, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I've just been thinking about you so much after our date, and I—"

"Maybe you should go," she heard herself saying. She was so muddled up and dizzy, she wasn't entirely sure the words had come out in the right order.

He nodded, looking penitent, and said, "We'll talk tomorrow. Okay?"

Nodding, she walked him to the door, barely noticing when he was gone. For some reason, she couldn't stop touching her lips. They weren't tingling like she had expected. They weren't numb. They were just… _nothing_.

Like the kiss.

Her feet carried her up the stairs, to her room, and into her bed, where she sat staring out at the cloudless sky in utter darkness. Her brain felt like a merry-go-round, spinning and spinning, drifting slowly to a stop.

Graham made sense. He was everything she wanted. And he was real, and warm, and safe.

But that kiss had just felt… _wrong._

She couldn't explain it. Even though she had never actually _kissed_ Killian, she knew that what she and Graham had shared was nothing in comparison to what she shared with Killian. Just his presence in the room made her feel things she had never felt, he made her entire being sing with joy and wonder.

But Graham was the safe choice. The easy choice.

 _Fuck that! I don't want safe and easy! That was how I have lived my entire fucking life. 'Look out for yourself and you'll never get hurt._ ' Well, she couldn't anymore. She wanted more than a comfortable life with the Sheriff, she wanted…. God, she wanted _everything. With Killian._

There had to be a way to make it work. She couldn't explain it, but she knew it could work. Henry already knew about him and he wasn't freaked out. And she could live without physical contact (Maybe there was another way she could find _that_ kind of pleasure.) They would be like a wacky sitcom family. _My Boyfriend, the Ghost._

Or maybe she had finally lost her mind.

Either way, she would need to tell him about Milah. If he wanted to stay, if it was his choice after he knew the truth, then she would do everything in her power to fight for them to be together. She would fight for him.

A calm settled over her heart. Tomorrow. She would tell Graham that she wasn't interested in anything more than friendship, and then…

She was ready to move on.

_With Killian._


	15. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end, get ready for major angst.

She was so _not_ ready. It was too early, she hadn't had any caffeine and she had spent most of the night trying to figure out just what she was going to say to Graham. Actually, what she would say to both Graham _and_ Killian.

Flinging the door to the station open, she paused, looking around for the tousle-haired Sheriff. It looked so different in here from when she had first started. Her hard work in the short time she had been here was paying off. Gone were the boxes and piles of paper. Now, they were sorted, organized, and filed into a system where the information could be easily accessed. Even the holding cells and desks had gotten a once-over from her. Pride swelled in her chest at knowing just how much she had accomplished.

Okay, _now_ she was ready.

"Graham, I need to speak with you," she called out. _That's right. Just rip it off like a band-aid, Emma._

She could hear the clomping sound of his boots hitting the floor and the creak of his chair. He must have been zoning out again. Even though his little quirks were so oddly endearing, Emma squared her shoulders and braced herself for the imminent conversation.

Graham exited his office, rubbing at his eyes lazily, like she had woken him from a nap. "I have to say this is a surprise, Em. Frankly, I thought you would have just called in sick to avoid me." His Irish lilt was thicker today, causing him to sound a bit like he had a hangover. Maybe he did. His eyes bore the bloodshot tracks of a person who's spent the night drinking.

She felt ill. Of course he had been expecting this. She had practically shoved him out the door without explanation. "Graham, I—"

"No, stop." He sighed heavily. "I need to apologize to you. I shouldn't have kissed you." Hardly looking up, he scratched nervously at his arm.

Emma needed to say something, she needed to explain, but the look he was giving her was destroying her will power. "It was a bit unexpected." She tried to smile to ease the tension, but it felt too forced.

The smile affected him, though. He looked up at her for the first time, dark eyes hooded. "Yeah," he offered, crossing his arms around his chest, causing his muscles to stretch the fabric of his shirt. The sheriff's badge must have been digging into the exposed skin, but he was ignoring it. "I'm really sorry, Emma." He sighed. "I knew you weren't ready, but I couldn't stop thinking about how much I liked being with you. Now I've screwed up everything, haven't I?"

"Graham, it doesn't matter." She shoved her hands into her back pocket to keep the nerves from showing. "You're right, I wasn't ready, but that wasn't why I pushed you away."

His face collapsed. "Then why?"

She allowed herself a deep breath. "Because… I thought I knew what love was. I mean, I always thought I was in love with Neal, you know. And I was, in a way. But I've realized something… that I want more than a good feeling and a nice time. I _deserve_ more, Graham."

"I don't understand, Emma." He did look confused, and maybe a bit hurt.

"I like you Graham, I do. You're a great guy and I'm not going to deny that there might be something between us. But that's not enough for me."

Now he did look pained, his eyes watering up. She steeled her nerves and kept going. "I want something more, something bigger. Someone who gets me, who understands me inside and out. I want someone who can challenge me, make me better _._ "

"Are you talking about true love? I didn't think you believed in that sort of thing."

She shrugged. "I didn't either until now."

He looked her over, narrowing his eyes. "You've….There's someone else, isn't there."

Sighing, she glanced away. "Sort of. It's complicated. But that's not the point. Even if there wasn't anyone, Graham, this—" she waved her hand back and forth between them "-isn't what I want." She grimaced a little at how harsh that sounded.

To her surprise, he only nodded. "Okay."

She looked at him in confusion. "Okay? That's it?"

Stepping in close, he slowly brought his hands up to cup her cheeks. He gave her another sad look, but he finished with a slight smile. "Yeah, Emma. I mean, it feels a bit like my heart's being a crushed," he chuckled sadly, "but I just want you to be happy. If that's not with me, then I can respect that." He ran his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears she hadn't realized were there.

"Thank you, Graham. I've never had someone in my life like you. I don't want to lose that."

He smiled brighter, his brown eyes lighting up from inside. "You won't. I'll be here for you, Em. As a friend. Whenever you need me."

This had been so much harder than she had expected. He really was a great guy and her head screamed at her to reevaluate the choice she was making. _Look at how much he cares for you, Emma! And you want to give that up for a…a…dream? A man who can't hold you and wipe away your tears? What are you thinking?_ It was too much. Her heart ached so badly in her chest, she thought she might collapse.

And then she pictured _him_ in her mind. How easy it was around him, how he had always made her feel like she was invincible. The heat and passion in his eyes when he looked at her. Or the way her eyes were always drawn to him. And the way her heart just _ached_ to be near him. Yes, Graham was a good man, a good friend. But he wasn't Killian.

Throwing her arms around Graham, she allowed herself to embrace him, both of them needing a moment of closure. When she pulled back, she felt steady, grounded, and ready to face her fear. With a tender look, she whispered, "Thank you."

He smirked back at her and nudged her with his shoulder. "Go on. I'll cover you the rest of the day. But I'm going to expect bear claws when you come back. And coffee. For at least a week."

There were no words to express her gratitude to him for how easy he was making this for her. All she could do was nod in agreement and give him a grateful smile. She watched him drop his gaze and head slowly back to his office before going to her own desk. Opening the drawer, she pulled out Milah's letter and tucked it inside her jacket. There was just one more thing to do.

…..

Storybrooke had its fair share of picture-perfect places for sitting back and contemplating the complexities of her life, but none made her feel as safe and calm as the docks. For a couple of hours, Emma merely sat there, on a bench over-looking the harbor, and watched the boats as they drifted by. She smiled into the sunlight, feeling warmed by its rays, as she leaned back. Truth be told, she kind of relished the briny fish smell that drifted off the quay. It was a familiar scent that reminded her of just how real all this was.

A long time ago, when she had moved in with Neil's parents, David had told her to learn to appreciate the quiet moments. So that was exactly what she was doing. This was a quiet moment she was going to savor for as long as she could. Things might not work out with Killian, she knew that. But she was trying to have hope.

Far too soon, afternoon came, and with it, the end of the moment. _Time to go, Swan,_ she thought, hearing the words in a distinctly accented voice.

Arriving at her son's school, she expected to find him waiting for her on the steps. Instead, she was practically assaulted a frantic Regina.

"Oh, Ms. Swan, thank god you're here!"

Rocking back on her heals, Emma asked with some concern, "What's up?"

Regina shook back her impressively shiny and perfectly coifed hair and frowned. "I am so sorry to have to ask you this, but is there any way you could take Roland? Just for a couple of hours. I've got a showing in—" she flipped her phone open to check the time "—5 minutes! Robin's busy at the shop and can't get away, and—"

Stopping the woman from continuing on, Emma smiled and said, "Sure. No problem. Henry's been dying to have him over anyway."

Regina let out a long sigh. "Thank heaven. I won't be long…" she gathered her briefcase hurried away to her car. "Two hours! Three, tops!" She called out over the rumble of her engine.

As she drove off, the school let out and the children began to stream out from the building like lemmings. Looking up, Emma saw Henry at the door, followed immediately by the shorter, curly-haired Roland.

"Mom!" Henry called, jumping down the last few steps two at a time, while Roland walked slower, looking apprehensively around the yard for his mother.

She ruffled Henry's hair until it was flopping over his forehead and greeted both of the boys. "Hey, kid. How do you feel about Roland coming back with us for a couple of hours?"

Henry stared back agape. Roland looked up at her with wide eyes, then gave Henry a bright, dimpled smile. They laughed and high-fived each other, both sprinting for her Beetle like they couldn't get there fast enough. "Guess he likes the idea," she mumbled to herself as she followed.

Inwardly, she groaned as started her car and it dawned on her that her conversation with Killian would now have to wait for another time. She only hoped she could find the time (and courage again) later on.

…

As they entered the house, the boys ran off towards the kitchen for snacks, while Emma impatiently tossed their jackets and book bags into a corner. She noticed that the house felt strange. Despite the merry chatter of the kids, the house seemed oddly stagnant and quiet.

It was unsettling. Normally, she would feel a sense of comfort and coziness walking into the house. Not to mention that ever-present weight inside her of Killian's presence. But now it was missing. Almost as if a piece of her soul had just _vanished._ When was the last time she had seen him? She thought back. It was yesterday, in the evening, before she went out. Before…

… _Oh no. Graham. The kiss…_

_…he didn't…_

_…Oh no!_

Panic was quickly building, flooding her with endorphins and dread. With little explanation, she ushered the boys outside, told them to play in the yard for a bit (They didn't seem to care and immediately began chasing each other around the grass), and went to find her captain.

"Killian?" She cried, her voice scratchy and off-sounding to her ears. It sounded desperate, and Emma Swan did not do _desperate._

_Please answer, Killian._

As she searched for him, her heart pumped faster and faster, beating out a litany of doubt. She fought it off bravely, constantly reassuring herself with a mantra of: _He wouldn't just leave you. He knows how much that would hurt. There must be a reason._

_Where are you?_

There was only a couple of places he might be, one of which was her bedroom. Opening the door, her heart nearly stilled at the sight of his painting. Sunlight was slanting in through the windows, causing the lines of raised paint to shadow across his face. She paused, staring at the mix of peaches and pinks on his flushed cheeks, the way the artist had scratched blue lights into his black hair, and the smooth swirl of periwinkle that made up the undertones of his iris.

She had never wished to see the real thing more in her entire life.

"Swan?"

Moaning in relief, she swirled around and flew to him, forgetting for a moment their inability to touch. Stopping short at the last second, she lowered her arms to her side as she cried, "I am so glad I found you."

He must have seen something of the fear in her eyes, for his expression softened just for a moment. But a heartbeat later, his walls were back up and he had slipped on the mask he so often wore. "What's wrong, Swan?" His jaw clenched, and she wondered if he was holding himself back from saying something more biting.

There was no doubt he had witnessed her and Graham last night. It was the only explanation for his coldness to her today.

"I thought you might have left," she admitted.

Brow creased in either guilt or anger, he ran a hand over his neck and shrugged. "Do you really believe I would have left without a goodbye?" His tone was curt, and it filled her with dread.

"But you were planning on leaving, weren't you?" She accused.

As his eyes darted away, she caught a flash of guilt. "Aye, Swan."

"Why?" She sounded like a child crying for her mom and dad, an imploring tone she swore she would never again use.

"I saw you with that man and I knew that my presence here was no longer necessary." He said despondently.

"No longer…" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

He sighed, stepping away, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You need someone real, darling. Someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved."

"And you believe that's not you?" _Didn't he love her? How could that be? Was she just a fool who had gotten her hopes up for nothing?_ The walls she had so carefully broken down piece by piece were up in full force. _It was happening again. I am such an idiot. How could I believe he loved someone like me?_

Something in her eyes arrested him, and he stopped his pacing, rushing quickly to her side before she could break.

"Emma," he said, leaning in next to her, forcing her to look at him, to see the truth in his gaze. "I never believed myself capable of letting go of the hurt caused by my first love, but spending time with you, getting to know the amazing, wonderful, beautiful person you are, has shown me that my heart is not gone after all." She saw everything written in his eyes. The fear of rejection, the self-loathing, the frustration, and the need. So like her own. He was just like her.

"What are you saying, Killian?" Her eyes fluttered, and she tried to snuff out the little flame of hope before it could catch fire, but the darn thing was too stubborn.

"Emma, _love_. Even though you are moving on with your life, there will never be a day that goes by that I don't think of you."

_Moving on with her life? He would never stop thinking of her? What the hell? Did he love her or not?_

Heart racing, beating like a kettle drum against her chest, she said, "Killian, I'm not moving on."

At her confession, he became utterly still, like a marble statue. Only his eyes moved, drinking her in, absorbing everything about her into himself. "But, that man…"

"Is a friend," she corrected, that small tiny flicker burning brighter by the minute. "A friend whom I have no romantic interest in whatsoever."

Was that a smile? Was he glad that she had rejected Graham? Did that mean something?

"Pardon me, love, but I'm glad to hear it."

She looked at him incredulously. "Glad that I broke someone's heart? Glad that I gave up on a guy because he wasn't right for me?" _That I gave him up for you?_

"Aye, Swan." The corner of his mouth dragged upward, the tall front teeth biting into his lip. She couldn't look away if she had tried.

"Why?" She begged in little more than a whisper.

And there he was, hovering inches from her face. "Because… _I love you, Emma_."

Her tightly held composure snapped, and she fell to the floor in a messy, sobbing heap, hands covering her face as her body trembled. _He loved her? He loved her?_

"Swan! Love, talk to me!" He yelled, falling to his knees beside her, worry etched across his face.

_He loved her!_

She looked up slowly, wishing so badly that she could just touch him, just once. To kiss him, to feel him _real_ and _whole_ and _alive_ under her lips. To have him stroke away the tears with his fingers and hold her in his strong arms.

"Emma?" He reached out, stroking her hair with a touch she couldn't feel.

 _No, Emma, you can't do this! Not yet. You need to tell him what you know. You have to._ Her eyes rolled back and she moaned. "Killian wait! I have to tell you something."

Relief was the first thing she saw, followed by confusion. "What is it, love?"

_This was it. No more holding back. All or nothing, Swan._

"I know the real reason that Milah betrayed you."

He flinched back from her as if she had slapped him. "What?"

Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, using her bed for support. She located the letter she had stuck in her jacket and pulled it out, showing it to him. "Killian, this letter was written by Milah to her sister not long after your—" She flicked her thumb across her neck like it was a knife.

"Death?"

"Yeah," she conceded, feeling a bit queasy. "It explains the real reason why she did what she did. And it's not why you think."

"Aye? And what was that, she was mad at me? She wanted someone else?" His voice rose in pitch with anger.

Emma shook her head. "Let me just read it to you, okay?"

He looked furious, but it was tightly controlled. He waved his hand in a careless gesture and walked away, clearly giving her permission to proceed.

She began to read.

_"My Dearest Emiline,_

_Every day, I feel the approach of the inevitable. It is no less than what I deserve. However, the child inside of me is innocent of my crimes and I wish to make amends on his behalf. Therefore, I write this to you as a way to unburden my soul, so that one day, I may be reunited with the man I love._

_As you know, I had always opposed the arrangement of my marriage to Rumple. He was a cruel and vindictive man, whom I believed to be capable of great evil. He was obsessed with power, fame, and longevity. When it became clear that I could not bear him a child, I became irrelevant to him. Thus, I ran away._

_I was not expecting to find love, but I did in the form of a kind and generous man named Killian Jones. Sister, please do not judge what I did while still bound under my marriage vows. For I believe even God would understand the misery my life had become. Killian offered me an escape, a chance for happiness that had been missing from my life for many years. So I seized it, telling him that my husband was dead, and that I was free to do as I pleased._

_Sister, if there is one thing I have learned, it is that all freedom comes with a price. Two years, Killian and I lived in bliss. He even went so far as to buy us a house. There was talk of starting a family. Perhaps that is why I tried to come to you that day. I returned to the estate to seek your advice. I knew you had a calm and even-tempered head and that you wouldn't fail to steer me wrong. Little did I think that my husband had finally taken an interest in his wife._

_I arrived at the estate, only to find Rumple and his guards waiting for me. How they received word of my travels, I will never know. Rumple was furious with my indiscretion, although I'm sure it had more to do with the fact that I was happy than that I had broken our vows. He chained me, locked me down, and told me he would see me burned for my crimes._

_Truth, dear sister, if it had been only me to made to suffer, I would have gladly done so. As it was, I had discovered I was with child only a fortnight before. It was Killian's child, and I hadn't even had the chance to tell him about it. I pleaded with my husband for the life of the babe. He then agreed to spare my life and that of the child, if I would agree to give up my lover and return home so that he could raise the child as his own. I would never be allowed to reveal the child's true parentage, but Rumple would see to it that the babe would want for nothing. I had little choice. I agreed._

_Then, he demanded one more thing from me. He wished to know the name of the man I had fallen in love with, who had fostered the child. He told me it was only fair that I write to the man, explaining that I was leaving him, so as not to have him languish in pain. What a fool I was to believe his lies!_

_I didn't find out until later, told by a man who worked for Rumple but who was loyal to me, exactly what the Count did to Killian. Dear sister, I might as well as wielded the sword that killed him myself, for just as surely, it was my fault he was dead._

_Every day, every minute, every second, my heart weeps with the sorrow of my choice. And now I am dying, too. What hope is there left for my child? Perhaps it would be better if he were never born and we could all go to join his father in the hereafter._

_Alas, I am heartsick and at an end. I write to beg you to forgive me for the actions I must take to ensure the well-being of my child. He is all that matters. There is little choice left to me now, and I will gladly spend an eternity facing the flames of Hell if I know he is safe. Please, dearest sister, look after my son, treat him as you would your own. Do not let the sins of his mother and the cruel fate of his father be leveled upon him. Ensure his happiness, I beg you._

_In love, forever your sister, Milah"_

He was quiet, taking it all in without comment. She had studied him as she read, watched the pain dash through his body, etching itself into his already care-worn face. When he finally spoke minutes later, she could hear how just how wrecked he had been by the news. "What did she do? How did she protect the babe?"

Emma grimaced, but pressed on, staring at the floor. "Right before she died, Milah slit the Count's throat."

He closed his eyes tightly, swaying slightly on his feet. "And what of the babe? What became of him?"

She sighed, "I don't know. I don't even know if he lived." She watched his jaw clench and unclench as his brow furrowed in deep, inexpressible anguish.

"So she loved me?" He whispered. "She loved me and only did what she had to in order to protect our son?"

"Yes," Emma answered.

He nodded half-heartedly, walking about the room. When he stopped, she expected him to be upset, but his face looked strangely calm. Was this it? Would he simply poof in front of her in a blaze of white light and trumpets? This couldn't be it. Not now, not after everything. _She wasn't ready!_

"Killian…" Her tongue was dry and sticking to her mouth. She could feel the whoosh of her blood run through her veins, the visceral agony in her chest. And he was staring at her, burrowing his way into her soul, carving his name upon her heart.

Dreading his answer, she knew she had to do the right thing. "You could go now, if you want. Go and be with her, them. Be at peace."

"Aye, love. I could do." Instead, he took a purposeful step towards her.

She blinked in confusion.

"But I get the impression, love, that is not what you want."

What was happening? Was he asking her to let him stay? No, it wasn't possible. Emma Swan does not get a happy ending. Emma Swan was an orphan of no account. A thief, a criminal. A widow who wasn't enough to save her husband. "Killian-" _You can't do this, I'm not worth it._

"Just tell me what you want, Emma. Tell me how you feel…" He reached out, ghosting his hand over her tear-streaked cheek. The look in his eyes was so open, so raw, so loving.

She couldn't look away, she couldn't blink, couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak. The words that had been _right there_ only moments before were just gone. "I…" she stammered.

It was too much.

All too much.

She couldn't breathe.

Couldn't…

And right then, a blood-curdling shriek from outside tore apart the air, shocking them both with an instant recognition of its source. A knife of cold fear stabbed into her chest, blocking out everything else.

"Henry!" She shrieked, as they both turned heal and flew out the door.

…

Forgetting all else for the moment but Henry, Killian rushed for the front door, his only thought was to save the boy. He willed himself immediately to the door, well ahead of Emma, and without pause, burst through.

It was if someone had flipped a switch.

Suddenly, he was swallowed up in a flood of brilliant, blinding white light, and _vanished_.

…..

Emma was in a full-on panic by the time she reached the yard. It took her only seconds to locate the form of a small boy, collapsed down, and peering over the edge of the cliff at the back end of the property. Breathing hard, she pulled up short, just before careening over the sudden drop-off herself, and grabbed the young boy from the ground into her arms.

"Roland! What happened? Where's Henry?" The look of horror on Roland's face was all the conformation she needed. Trembling with fear, she placed him down and peered out over the ledge to see the roiling tumult of the waves and rocks below.

Henry was nowhere to be seen.

She ran.

…

As the light subsided, it took with it the memories of how he had arrived in this place and what he had been doing just before. Looking around, he was assailed by a sense of familiarity. He recognized the stone hearth, the low wooden table, even the tapestry on the wall. He was in the house he had shared with Milah long ago.

And he recognized the woman with the long brown curls at the door. A woman who had been waiting for him for a long time.

"Milah!" He cried, running to her and taking her up into his arms.

She snuggled her head into his neck, wrapping herself around him tightly, "Killian! I thought I might never see you again. But now you're here. You're

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm posting this to make up for totally screwing up the order of the last two chapters. I will put up the conclusion probably tomorrow. There will also be two epilogues. If there is anything you might like to see in an epilogue (assuming every one gets a happy ending next chapter) please let me know.


	16. Home (Coda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my friend...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be two epilogues, one really fluffy, one smutty, in case anyone wants that ;)

****

"Killian! I thought I might never see you again. But now you're here, you're home!"

He stared down at her, and remembered just how she felt in his arms. He remembered how she always leaned into him with just her left side, as if needing the other side free to tease him. Her hazel eyes shined up at him as he held her closer, nuzzling into her hair to take in her scent of rich spices and honey. He could scarcely believe it.

"Milah, how am I here?" He asked.

Laughing lightly, she pinched his arm. "It matters not, my love. Come, I have something to show you," she teased, tugging him in the direction of their bedroom.

"Love? What has happened?" He should be perfectly happy, he should be ecstatic to be here, but he felt that there was something he was forgetting, something that did not seem right.

_Henry!_

He shook his head in confusion. He knew of no one named Henry. Did he?

"Here, Killian," Milah beckoned, waving him over. "Look."

There was a stillness to the moment, as if time itself was holding its breath. Killian stepped in and looked to where she was pointing. Asleep on their bed, nestled amongst the quilts, lay a small boy with curly, brown hair.

"That's your son, Killian," Milah whispered, placing her hand upon his arm and nudging him closer to the sleeping boy.

Taking a faltering step forward, Killian turned back to her and asked, "My son?"

She smiled sweetly, eyes crinkled. "Baelfire."

It was though the weight and torment of a thousand lifetimes had just lifted from his shoulders. He broke into a wide grin as he peered down at the lad, devouring him with his eyes. "Bae. My boy."

She nodded, urging him forward. Bending over the lad, he reached out to push back the hair from his forehead. His little puffs of breaths falters, but the boy did not awaken. Killian could clearly see his mother's lines in the boy's high cheeks and chin. He looked back at her, glowing.

 _I am so glad I found you._ His hand upon the lad stilled as he blinked in confusion. He had clearly heard a woman's voice, a voice his soul reacted to viscerally.

Before he could sort it out, Milah was at his side. "Killian, let him sleep. He's been so excited he's tired himself out."

He nodded, letting her once again direct him back through the door, pausing often to catch one more glance at his boy.

 _Jones!_ Rubbing at his brow, he tried to shake it off, but could not. Something was happening to him. There was no way he could explain it, but he kept having flashes of something. Like a memory. A phrase. A voice, lost and alone. A face with ever-changing green eyes. So sad, so desperate.

 _"Killian, do you feel that?" A kiss_. He could feel it upon his lips. Touching his mouth with the pads of his fingers, it felt like a memory, a connection shared that had been so pure and real. If he could only just remember who she was.

Milah was watching him with curiosity. Her hands clutched at her skirts. "My love? What's wrong?"

He was drawn back to the moment, but the feeling of something missing was growing ever stronger.

"I'm not sure," he told her. _A flash of hair like gold in the sunlight._

"Don't do this, Killian," Milah begged. He looked up at her, taking in her worried expression and sad pout. Crossing the room, he once more gathered her in his arms. She clung to him as if her world were ending. "Stay here, with me. With us, Killian," she whispered into his shoulder.

He kissed her cheek. "I've no intention of going anywhere, love."

She pushed him, hard, in the chest. "Yes, you do!" Her anger was sudden and unexpected.

Taken aback, he asked, "What's going on?"

 _This is my house! Mine. I will not leave._ Words that had been spoken in anger, but not from the woman in front of him. A different woman entirely. _Whose house? Why would she not leave?_

"It's…. Killian," she sighed, collapsing onto a chair, defeated. "You don't belong here."

"Of course I belong here with you and Bae. You are my family." He pleaded, falling to her feet so that he could look up at her.

Bending down, she took his hand in hers, running her fingers across his palm. With a mournful look, she shook her head and replied, "Not anymore."

"What are you saying, my love?" He turned his hand so that he could grab hold of her thin, delicate fingers, pressing them up against his chest.

She turned away. "Your heart and soul belong to another. You cannot stay here."

How could his heart belong to someone else? Milah was his love, and so was the boy whom he had yet to meet. Why was she pushing him aside? "Please, don't do this…" he begged.

She collapsed with a sigh, and said, "I am not, Killian. It is you. Your spirit is even now trying to get back to her."

"Who is she? Who is the woman I am hearing in my head?" She refused to meet his eye. Desperately, he took her shoulders and shook her, "Please, I beg you, tell me!"

Milah frowned and looked at him with a pitying glance. "Emma," she said. "Her name is Emma."

It was as if she had driven a knife into his head and his heart. In a rush of colors, sounds, pain, and joy, he recalled all that he had forgotten. "Swan," he cried, sucking in the air back into his lungs.

"Yes, and now you must choose." Milah pushed him away from her until he fell back onto his heels. "You cannot exist in both places."

The enormity of the choice he must make stretched out before him. With a moan he fell to the ground, clasping his head in his hands. "NO!" How could he choose to stay or go? Milah or Swan? His son or saving Henry?

It was an impossible choice, and it was breaking him apart.

A cool hand descended upon his neck. He pulled his head up to see Milah there looking down on him with a soft, sad smile. "Killian, she needs you."

"How can you ask this of me?" He cried, his anguish utterly consuming him.

"I ask nothing of you, my love," she purred soothingly, the lines of guilt and apology etched into her face. "I have waited these long years without you because of the consequences of my own choices. We have been apart all this time because of the pain I inflicted upon you. There is no need to feel sorry." She joined him on the floor, a hand stroking through his hair. "Yet, I would gladly spend an eternity alone because my actions saved out son. My only regret is that you will never get to know him." She laid her head upon his neck and he could feel the dampness of her tears streaming down the front of his shirt. He was sure they matched his own. "So, I will grant you the one thing that is in my power to give you." She pulled back and placed a hand upon his heart. "We will be with you always, my love. You will never forget us. Every memory I have of him that I have made with him, all of it shall be yours."

Instantly, Killian felt her hand burning his chest and his mind went blank. When he blinked a moment later, the pain was gone and in its place were the most astounding memories of a small boy, black of hair and green of eye, running, smiling, playing…

He pulled Milah to him and kissed her. "Thank you, love. Thank you."

She smiled, and tilted her head towards the door, letting her hand slip down his chest. "I cannot guarantee what will happen to you, Killian. Life is funny like that."

He nodded, with a cheeky grin of his own. "Aye. That's what makes it so precious."

With a sigh, she nudged him once more towards the now open doorway, and through it, he could see naught but a bright, blue sky over water. He turned to look at Milah, taking her in one last time. "Will you tell our boy that his father will love him always and forever?"

"Of course, my love." She sighed, but gave him a brave, determined look. "Go, Killian, they need you."

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her in and whispered, "I'll love you forever, too, Milah."

"Goodbye, my love," she said, retracting her hand and kissing him upon the cheek. "Be happy and live well."

Wiping at his cheek, Killian turned around and walked with a determined stride right through the door.

His world fell away into darkness.

….

The black faded to a dull grey. Swirling sensations surrounded him. He heard a roar of something like the winds of a hurricane, but dull and muted. Then, pain. A burning in his lungs, a thousand stinging nettles upon his skin, and the need to _move._ He thrashed about with arms and legs, noticing he was more or less weightless, suspended in something dense and cold that seemed to pull and push at him in all directions. Suddenly, his head broke through the surface, his lungs screaming with the need for air. Throwing his head back to shake the wet hair from his eyes, for the first time he saw where he was. The ocean. He'd recognize the salty tang on his tongue anywhere.

All at once, it came to him: Taste. He could taste again. And smell. And _feel_. And as he treaded water, he brought up _both_ his hands to his face in mute wonder. Before he could truly grasp the fact that he had his hand back, _his body_ back, a thunderous wave slammed into him, forcing him under again, and throwing him closer to the jagged rocks. With great sweeps of his arms, he pulled himself back to the surface, fighting madly against the swells.

And then he heard it, a small feeble cry for help. "Henry _!"_ Diving towards the noise which seemed located near to the razor sharp rocks, he called out to the boy. Another small cry, and this time he thought he saw a flash of color. Henry's red striped shirt. Before he could dive again, however, another huge swell picked him up and shoved him down, hard, into the corner of a jutting boulder. Hot, angry pain shot up from his left arm, and he could see his blood in the water. No doubt it was shattered, but it didn't matter. He needed to get to Henry. So he kept going.

His lungs ached and burned, his body convulsed from the cold as his muscles began to seize up, and an overwhelming tiredness threatened to take hold, but he was making progress. He could see the boy clinging to the face of a rock, hugging onto it as the waves tried repeatedly to pull him off. There was a slight cut on his forehead, and his lips were a deep shade of purple, but otherwise he look unharmed.

"Henry, grab onto me, lad!" He yelled, hoping the boy could hear him above the thunderous cacophony of the waves. Bracing himself with his feet, knees and hips, Killian reached out, and felt the boy slip his tiny hands around his neck. "Don't let go," he added, pushing off the rock and fighting against the current with everything he possessed.

He could hear the little whimpers the boy was making, but he ignored it, focusing instead on keeping his head above water and his body moving steadily towards the beach nearby. Far, far away in the distance, he thought he could hear voices and shouting. None of that was important now, however. All that mattered was Henry.

…

Emma was a mess by the time she got to the beach. Her normally calm demeanor and level-headedness under pressure was completely gone. This was her son. This was Henry.

As she had raced from her home, down the driveway, over the rocky beach area, and toward the base of the cliff upon which her house perched, she had managed to attract the attention of several people who were walking along the beach. She shouted for them to call for an ambulance, the police, the Coast Guard, _fucking Superman_ , anyone who could help her save her son.

But she never stopped, her feet dug into the sand, her calves burned and her lungs screamed, but she never stopped running toward where Henry had fallen.

And wonder of wonders, there he was a tiny, wet figure staring dazedly at the beach. "MOM!" he screamed and flung himself towards her.

There had never been a sweeter, more beautiful sound in all her life. With an extra burst of speed she dashed forward, falling to her knees and throwing her arms tightly upon her soaking wet boy. She smothered him in relieved kisses, while quickly accessing him for damage. "Henry! You're okay! You're alright." She swiped her thumb across the shallow cut on the boy's brow and shuddered at how it could have been so much worse.

He was shaking from the cold, crying, and in shock, but he nodded in happiness against her neck.

With a tug, he pulled away and grabbed her hand, "Come on, mom! We need to save the piwate."

For a moment, Emma was at a complete loss. "What?"

He frowned and pulled as hard as he could, lifting her to her feet with his determined effort. "He's huwt," he answered. She was so emotionally exhausted, she could only stumble after him as he drug her back towards the shoreline.

"Henry, wait!" She called, but when she went to stop him, he slipped out of her hand and began to run. Vaguely, she was aware of the sound of sirens approaching, but suddenly, it no longer mattered.

_The pirate. He always called the house a pirate ship. And it's captain…a pirate. Oh god! Killian!_

She scrambled forward, slipping on the slick surfaces of the wave-worn rocks until she saw her son and a dark, motionless figure lying face down in the sand.

"Killian?" She said, praying she was both right and wrong about the identity of the 'pirate'. The figure didn't stir, but she was close enough now to make out the familiar color and texture of his long navy coat. A coat which was now slashed and torn and sopping wet. She fell down beside him, her son shaking at his shoulders and looking up at her with tear-filled pleading eyes.

"Killian?" She whispered. Rolling her captain gently over, she gasped at the sight of him. Eyes closed, his cheeks were ashen and his lips blue ( _they should be bright pink and eager)_ , his hair hung in wavy clumps against his skin. The coat and his other clothes had numerous gashes and tears where the rocks had sliced into him. But it was the sight of his bloody, slightly askew, and longer handless left arm that left her breathless.

She bent over him, vaguely recalling her CPR training and checked for a pulse, a sign of breathing, or any other way to tell if he was alive. Warring thoughts beat at her. _Please be alive! But how can he be alive if he's a ghost?_ Her fingers stroked over his neck as she leaned into his chest. The feel of him real and whole and _there_ nearly unmade her. And then, she felt it.

The low thump of a heartbeat. But it was nearly faded, too slow and faltering.

_Please, don't leave me now, Killian._

People were coming down the beach. Shouts were made in their direction. Henry sat on the sand, thumb in his mouth, and simply stared wide-eyed in shock. But none of that mattered.

 _Believe in him, in your love._ A voice in her head told her. It sounded oddly like Mary Margaret for some reason. _Take a leap of faith, as he did for you._ She closed her eyes, hoping with everything she possessed that their love would be enough.

Hovering just over his face, she cupped his cheeks, took a deep breath, and whispered, "Killian, come back to me." Then she kissed him, willing life back into him with her air in his lungs. Her breath became his and he moved beneath her. _Come back to me._

Coughing up the sea water that had filled his lungs after the last desperate stroke to get Henry to shore, he lifted his good hand to his lips, like he was unsure what he had just felt was real. A moment later, he opened his eyes.

Emma had never before seen a sight more wonderful to behold.

Killian had never before seen a sight more magnificent.

"Hey, beautiful," he grinned, and the slowly his world faded once more.

…..

_Journal of Captain K. Jones, HMS Jolly Roger, Day 132, 1745._

_Liam,_

_Today is the anniversary of your death, and this is the first year that I haven't found myself lost in the bottom of my rum bottle. I must admit, I find myself quite confused. It's not as if the ache of losing you, of losing the only family I have left, has been extinguished, but something happened today that has momentary sated my thirst for oblivion. Indeed, I cannot fully explain it, and it has left me in a state of wonderment._

_The day started much the same as any other. Cully and Scutter were on post when I heard a shout from the men. Port side, there was a great spouting of water, followed directly by a white shimmer of light upon the surface of the water. None of us knew what to make of it. I directed my men to sail towards it, me being curious as to what could have caused such a strange sight. Some of the men thought it was a sign from the gods or perhaps Davey Jones coming to claim us and were afraid. However, as we drew nearer, I felt of something I can only describe as_ rightness _come over me. I have no words, brother. It was as if a will other than my own was leading me onward._

_For there, floating serenely as if in meditation, sat the largest, most beautiful swan I have ever seen in my life. Surely, I thought, this could not be real, I had fallen asleep at the helm and all this was but a most vivid dream. Alas, it was not._

_We drew the Jolly closer, but the swan did not move. Some of the men began to talk about catching the bird with a net and seeing what the flesh of such a creature might taste like in their bellies. I have no idea why, Liam, but the thought of harm coming to such a magnificent being filled me with uptmost disgust. I shouted at my men to return to post and to leave the bird be, telling them if it were a sign from the gods, then surely catching and eating it would doom us all._

_Soon enough, I was alone at the rail. As I marveled, the swan lifted its neck in a graceful movement and looked me square in the eye. I swear, brother, I saw the challenge in its eye. I don't think I've ever felt so akin to another creature in my life. I may have even laughed at its gall. It let out a low, mournful sound that I believe I shall hear until the end of my days, and then fluttered its wings, arching them out over the waves in a perfect arc. The morning sun caught some of the feathers, turning them all manner of colors, from coral to turquoise, to gold. I have never witnessed such beauty. It stole my very breath. It was indescribable, brother, and even now, my heart pains me to think of it._

_As if flew off, I knew that this Swan was meant as a sign for me as surely as I knew my ship. Perhaps fate has better days in store for me, as it has been long and lonely journey so far. For I know when I looked upon my swan, I felt the presence of hope once more._

_Your affectionate younger brother, Killian_

_…._

There was nothing but a jumble of noise and sound and smells he couldn't comprehend. A hard pressure was pushing upon his left arm as he awoke from his dreamlike state. At first, the light was so bright, he thought maybe he had returned to Milah and his boy after all. But the sounds were all wrong. Strange pings, echo-y voices, and biting smells did not belong in that world.

As the light faded and his eye adjusted, he took in his true surroundings with a start. A white room, with rows of things like Swan's television screen, a door open to a hall beyond where people darted past in strange white and blue uniforms. The movement must have been noticed, because instantly, he heard a sweetly familiar voice say, "Killian, you're awake!"

Craning his neck, he saw only a flash of blond and a flurry of color before she was wrapped tightly to his side. And….oh, gods… he could _feel_ her against him. Soft, warm, smelling of honeysuckle and sea breezes. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "Emma?"

Her head popped up and he was met with the most radiant smile, like sunshine after a storm, and he couldn't help but return it. "Emma," he said again, more determinedly.

Suddenly, she was blinking rapidly and her eyes filled with tears and she was pressing her lips against his and…

…oh…

Never had anything felt like that kiss. Hard and soft at once, tasting the salty sweetness of her lips. A warmth was rising in his body. Ignoring the wires and tubes attached to his arm, he snaked his good hand around her head, finally, finally able to run his hands through her soft strands of hair. And it was so much better than he had imagined. Tears sprang to his eyes and he let them trickle down his cheek, mixing with their kiss.

Rubbing her fingers across his cheek, she increased the pressure on his lips, licking along them until he opened for her. The warmth in his body was rapidly becoming an inferno. She moaned into his mouth and he pulled her closer with his right hand, wishing that whatever was keeping his other arm locked down would vanish so he could take her bodily.

His lungs screamed for air, but he ignored them and kept kissing her, relishing in the way his fingers and toes were tingling now, and the way small little groans and whimpers slipped unconsciously from their mouths. She ran her hands all over his shoulders and chest, like she just couldn't feel enough of him. He could understand. He let the hand in her hair travel down, following the cascading curls as they brushed against her arms, and he wept out loud when he felt the satin softness of his skin against his palm.

"Killian," she moaned in utter desperation, sliding her hand farther down, up under the strange cotton overshirt he was wearing until her own fingers met his raw, heated flesh.

He couldn't stop touching her. He wanted to feel every inch of her with not only his hands but with the skin of chest and the tip of his tongue. He needed it more than he had ever needed anything. It seemed she was feeling the same as well. But all too soon, it ended.

With a short shudder of breath, she pulled away from him lips, and immediately he felt the loss. She lent over him, touching him forehead to forehead, and sighed. "How is this possible? How are you alive, Killian?"

His wondering hand still searched out her searing flesh, unable to stop himself, but he slowed his frantic pacing down to answer. "Don't you know, darling, I could never leave you?" He gave her a sad smile, trying to hide the painful choice he had made from her. It was not her burden to bear. She gave him a disbelieving look, but for now, she seemed too content to press the issue.

He could feel her tremble in his arms and suddenly she was rigid. "Killian, before anything else happens, I need to tell you something." Her voice cracked but her gaze remained steadfast. "I love you. Before…Henry…I wanted to tell you, but I had to give you the choice. I wanted you to be where you would be happiest, whether it was with me or….or not." She licked her lips, wiping away the salty tears gathered there. "I don't know how or why, but this… you coming back to life, saving Henry…it means the world to me."

"Swan," he teased, "you mean the world to me."

Her eyes darkened and she kissed him again. It wasn't until an unexpected gasp from the direction of the door interrupted them, that they stopped.

"Um, Ms. Swan," Regina coughed, her cheeks a bright pink. She was looking everywhere but the two of them snuggled up on the hospital bed together. "Henry's asking if he can come in now. But I see you're a bit preoccupied, so I'll just keep feeding him candy from the vending machine."

Emma grimaced and moved away from Killian, who refused to let go of her hand, even as she descended from the bed.

"Sorry, Regina, you can send him in," she apologized, adjusting her shirt down and smoothing out her hair.

Regina raised a brow and said, "Are you sure about that? I could just take him home with me and give you two love-birds time to sort yourselves out."

Killian chuckled hoarsely, his throat and lungs still raw from the near drowning, but his smile remained plastered on his face. "Oi, Swan, I think I like her."

Regina crossed her arms and huffed. "And just who are you, by the way? I wasn't aware that Emma had a boyfriend."

"Killian's not my boyfriend," Emma shot back, wincing when she realized how harsh that sounded. Still, boyfriend and girlfriend didn't seem like the appropriate terms for what they were to each other. And they needed something a little bit easier to say than 'he's my three-hundred-year-old-reanimated-ghost-lover', and I'm his 'orphan-slash-widow-slash-mother-who-brought-him-back-to-life-with-a-kiss-significant-other. Yep, they definitely needed something catchier. And less insane sounding.

She entwined her fingers around his and took a moment to relish the fact that she could actually _feel_ his fingers around hers, and said with confidence. "He's my…everything."

Regina's only response was to roll her eyes and throw up her hands. As she left the room, they heard her muttering about, "Pathetic doe-eyed teenagers."

Killian tugged at her hand, bringing her down towards him. "Your everything?" He asked in a hush whisper. That damn twinkle of mischief was back in his eyes and now that he actually had the power to follow through with it, she felt a slight bit frightened.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean…you are… my everything. And what was I supposed to say anyway? I can't really tell people who you are… or _were_ …I mean," she finished in a rush, her brow knit in confused frustration.

He shrugged, raising his brow in challenge. "Why not? I've nothing to hide."

She shoved him away playfully, "Oh? And how is that going to go over? 'Hey, this is Killian, you know, he died like two centuries ago, but his ghost has been living in my house. But it okay. He's alive now, so don't, like, freak out or anything.'"

"Swan, I'm sure everything will be fine." He winked up at her and she caved. "I have every faith that you'll figure something out."

"Me?" She gaped.

At that moment, the door opened wide and Henry came rushing into the room. With a shout, he launched himself at his mother who lifted him up and swung him around. Killian chuckled at his enthusiasm. From his place in her arms, Henry looked down and said, "You saved me, Mista Piwate."

If his heart hadn't been beating so strongly, Henry's words would have nearly finished him off. "Aye, lad. Couldn't let a mate drown now, could I?"

Henry squirmed out of his mother's grasp and climbed carefully up on the cot. "I know you," he said.

With a confused frown, Killian looked up at Emma who merely shrugged back the same way. "What do you mean, kid? Emma asked.

Henry pushed his hair back off his head with an annoyed grunt, accidentally revealing the row of stitches just under his hair line. "You tell me stowies. And you gave me the…thingy" he scrunched his face up, trying to recall the word.

"It's called a sextant," Killian supplied, reaching tentatively for the boy. "And it was given to me when I was only a little older than you are now." His hand fell across the lad's shoulder and he shuddered, suddenly recalling a memory of doing this with his own son. A false memory belonging to Milah and to an alterna-life in the hereafter, but he'd take it all the same. "Would you like me to show you how to use it sometime?"

Nodding eagerly, Henry beamed and threw himself into Killian's chest. With a wince of pain from his broken arm, Killian laughed and returned the embrace.

"Careful, Henry, remember that Killian's arm is hurt."

Instantly, Henry pulled back, "Sowwy!"

"No need for 'pologies, little lad. Nothing harmed. A little scrapper like yourself can do no real damage, and I've had far worse than this in my day." He wiggled the cast in the air. At Henry's look of horror, Killian quickly added, "Never fear, lad, I've no doubt I'll be right as rain in no time."

This seemed to appease Henry and he scrambled back off the bed. "Mom, is the piwate coming back home soon?"

 _Home._ What a simple word for such a complex idea. It was a testament to how strong the connection between them was that both were equally affected by the full weight of that word.

Emma felt a warmth spread all over her, as tears sprang to her eyes. "Very soon, I hope. As soon as the doctor says he can." She looked over to see Killian's eyes shining as well, a strangely wistful look upon his face. "Is that okay with you?"

Henry nodded so hard, he shook his entire body. "Yep." And like most small children his focus immediately switched elsewhere. "I'm going to go back and play with W- _R_ oland now, mom. Bye, mom. Bye, Mr. Piwate."

"Wait, lad!" Killian called out, halting the boy as he ran for the door. Henry paused mid-stride and Killian continued, "The name's Captain Killian Jones, m'boy, but you're welcome to call me Killian." He felt no need to correct the lad's belief in his trade. If Henry wanted to call him a pirate, he'd wear the moniker with honor.

Thinking it over, Henry smiled. "Okay. Bye Cap'n Killy," he called as he ran out the door.

Killian's smile melted into warm affection as he motioned Emma back over to him. "Well, love, looks like I'll be _co-habitating_ with you and your boy for a while longer. Shame about the lack of extra bunks in your house. Wherever shall you put me?" He scratched at his ear, fluttered his lashes at her, and ran a finger back over his lips, giving her a wide smirk in the process.

Glaring, she pinched him in the ribs, then pecked him quickly on the cheek. "I guess we'll just have to clear out all the junk in the attic and put you up there," she stated nonchalantly.

"Oi! I've spent far too bloody long stuck in that attic, and those are my things, so if you think—"

"Shut up, Jones," she whispered, sealing his mouth with a searing kiss. "We'll work out the payment of your rent later," she teased.

Pulling her in closer, he growled and nipped at her earlobe. "Why wait 'til later, love?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an explanation for the first part of this chapter, just in case there is any confusion. This part takes place in an alternate reality/after-life scenario where Killian and Milan and their son are allowed a kind of 'do-over' to live the life they were denied. It's a spirit-world kind of thing, I guess. Anyway, the name of their child was chosen because of the fact that Bae was Milah's boy, and Killian was a surrogate father to him for a bit. For this fic, though, Baelfire has NOTHING to do with Neal. Just like Gold and Rumple are two different people, so are Neal and Bae. I hope this will clear up any confusion. Also, yes, Killian's son is dead. :( My head canon for him was that he died of the same disease that took his mother when he was a small child. I know that's sad, but tragic things do happen, and at least in my fic, he gets to 'live' happily with his mother. I'm sorry. I know some of you really wanted Killy to have a connection with his son. Unfortunately, that is part of what he gives up for Emma and Henry.


	17. Healing (Epilogue 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- So, the rating on this story changes here. I’m bumping this chapter up to an ‘M’. 
> 
> Sorry it took longer than anticipated, as I honestly had no idea what I was doing with this chapter. Hope you enjoy, though, as it is my first attempt (publicly) at writing anything remotely like this. Feedback would be appreciated.
> 
> One more epilogue to fully wrap this story up and then, onto a new project. Follow on FF.Net, here, or on Tumblr under imapuppy79, for updates on any new works.
> 
> Thank you all for coming along with me on this journey. I can’t believe it’s ending, as it has been an utter joy to write. And for all of you that have supported this story, I can’t thank you enough.

The shrill electronic ringing of her cell phone was the only thing that could have tempted Emma from her blissful slumber. Reaching over without even opening her eyes, she expected to find the phone sitting at the edge of her nightstand, where she normally kept it. Instead, her hand met no resistance, and more importantly, no phone. Before she could fully process this and wake up, however, the ringing ended. Deciding she would worry about it later, she snuggled back into her pillow. Until her pillow moved.

“Eh, love. Wha’s that?” Asked a rather slurred, sleepy voice. Killian’s voice.

Suddenly, everything came back to her. Her eyes flew open. She was lying across his chest, tucked up under his good arm, on his very confining hospital bed. She must have fallen asleep yesterday after Henry went home with Regina. For a minute or two, Emma was tempted to just close her eyes and go back to sleep. Killian was entirely too warm and comfortable, and that was enough of a miracle in itself that she allowed herself time to appreciate it. “Just a call, go back to sleep,” she replied, breathing his scent of sea water and leather deeply into her lungs.

However, the nagging sensation that she should probably check her phone would not let her relax enough to return to sleep. She groaned quietly, pushing herself off the bed as gently as possible so as not to disturb him or the broken arm wrapped in a cast on his left side. After all, she should have guessed that he would have been aware of even her smallest movements, for when she stood up, he was watching her with a look of blissful adoration.

“You look like a kitten, all curled up in the sun,” she told him, noting how he had tucked his free arm up under his head so that he could watch her better from the bed. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, lending him a sleepy, relaxed vibe.

_Are there going to be butterflies every time I look at him, because I will never get anything accomplished at this rate?_

He smiled lazily at her, “Oi, I’m no bloody rat catcher, but I’ll gladly purr for you, love, if you come here and stro–“

She clamped her hands down firmly over his mouth. “Don’t finish that.”

With a wide-eyed grin, he nodded and she took her hands away. Chuckling, he kissed her knuckles and said, “I’ve not slept for nigh 300 years, Swan. You can’t blame a man for enjoying it as much as he can.”

She tilted her head to study him. “You are probably going to go overboard with enjoying things, aren’t you? I have a feeling I’m going to need to set some limits or we might have a _Hangover_ situation on our hands.”

He frowned. “How’s that, love?”

Rolling her eyes, she replied, “ _The Hangover_.   It’s a movie… you know what? Never mind, I’ll just rent it sometime.”

With a smirk, he slipped his hand into hers and ran a thumb along her knuckles. “You know, Swan. I’m beginning to think that you have an obsession with these _movies_ of yours.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mister ‘let’s-watch-all-the-pirate-movies-back-to-back-three-times-in-a-row’. And how many times did you make me show you that documentary on sailing again?”The little swirls he was making along her wrist were starting to drive her insane. How was it possible that he was able to make her blood rush and her brain turn to mush with such a small gesture? Really, it was like he was setting her aflame all over her body.

_God, his hand was so warm. And it was so long and expressive that even his callouses are doing things to me. And that’s just with the one hand! What the hell am I going to do when he gets that cast off and he has both hands back?_

“Hush, darling,” he laughed. “I get the point.” He tugged at her until she crashed back on to the bed and he pulled her in for a searing kiss.  His eyes were a flushed deep blue, and she felt as though she was drifting far out to sea in their ocean depths.

Sighing contentedly into his mouth, she relented. “If that’s how you plan on winning every argument, I might just have to pick more fights with you.”

“As you wish, Swan,” he growled through his teeth.

Needing to stop this before it could go too far, she slapped playfully at his arm. “And that’s another movie we need to watch,” she muttered under her breath, reluctantly turning away to search for her phone.

Locating it on the chair by the bed, she checked it quickly to see who had called. It was from David. With a regretful sigh, she turned back to him. “Hey, Killian, I need to make a call and I’m pretty sure the nurses need to come check on you anyway. Will you be alright for a few minutes?”

“Swan, there is nothing that could be more right with me than to have you near, however, I will gladly acquiesce your presence for the time being,” he replied, settling himself back into the bed with a tired grin. “Go on, love, I’ll play nice this time. I promise.” All too clearly, she remembered the last time the nurses had come to help him use the toilet and to get cleaned up. If he hadn’t been so unsteady and weak, she knew he would have had them chasing him all over the hospital, naked, as he shouted ‘Get your bloody hands off me, wenches!’ at full volume. As it was, he only made it slightly down the corridor before they subdued him.

She felt the blush creeping up her neck and practically forced herself to run from the room before she could do something stupid like jump on top of him and strip him naked herself.

Outside, she found the nurse’s station, and after thanking them for letting her remain with Killian throughout the night, informed them that she needed to step out for a bit and that if they needed to do any check-ups, Killian promised to be a much more compliant participant. Their proceeding eye rolls told her they highly doubted her.

Embarrassed, she headed for a secluded waiting room and quickly dialed David back on her phone. “David? Hello?”

“Emma! I’m so glad you called back. How is Henry doing?”

Yesterday, between when Henry had been checked out and the endless hours she had spent waiting on Killian to regain consciousness, she had called her in-laws and informed them of Henry’s accident (minus the details of a dashing rescue by a certain captain, because that was a conversation she was in no way ready for yet). At the time, Henry had been deemed healthy by the doctor, if not extremely fortunate, having only a shiny new scar just under his hairline to show for the whole ordeal. It had been Killian who had suffered and nearly drowned making sure that Henry stayed safe, and for that she didn’t think she could ever repay him.

“Henry is perfectly fine. He’s already bragging about how his scar makes him look like Harry Potter and whether that means he’ll get to go to Hogwarts when he’s older.”

David let out a relieved sort of chuckle. “We are so glad Henry’s alright, Emma. I can’t imagine if…”

Emma closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, feeling the rise of too many _what ifs_ coming back to haunt her. “David—“

He seemed to realize that he had just crossed into dangerous conversation territory and stopped himself. “Are you certain you don’t need us to come up and help out?”

“I told you, everything is fine here. Henry is fine. I know you guys mean well, but there is no need to come running over every little thing.”

“This wasn’t exactly a little thing, Emma,” he corrected. “Still, Mary Margaret reminded me that you are a strong, independent woman and that if you truly needed our help, you would ask for it. You would, wouldn’t you?” She could hear the uncertainty in his voice and it was breaking her.

“Of course, David. I do appreciate the concern, though.” _Even if it’s a little bit much_ , she thought as she mentally rolled her eyes at his ‘dad’ness.

“Good.” He sighed as if he wasn’t sure he believed her before continuing. “Um, Emma, there was another reason that I called. We heard from Archie today, about Gold’s lawsuit.”

Throwing her head back, Emma groaned. She stopped pacing around the waiting room and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, David. If he’s trying to claim that I assaulted him, I assure you, it’s a lie. All I did was visit the shop to talk. There was even a witness, although he’s on Gold’s payroll, so he probably won’t –“

“Emma, Gold’s dropping the case.” He stated bluntly.

She was stunned. “What?”

“Archie told us that Gold’s lawyers called and said Gold wanted the case dropped. He didn’t even give a reason.” David seemed to be considering something. “What did you say to him when you went to the shop?”

She inwardly groaned, hating that she was being forced to remember that day. All she wanted was to put her past far behind her and move on. “I…I just reminded him that Neal was his family and he would hate what Gold is doing. And then, I forgave him.”

“Oh, Emma.” He sounded like he was torn between pride and concern. “That was…I’m sure that was really hard for you. I don’t think I could have done that.”

For the first time, it occurred to her that her in-laws were probably just as angry and upset as she was. Why had that never occurred to her before? They had lost their child when Neal died. The sting of losing Henry was too fresh and real, and suddenly she was feeling guilty for treating them like they hadn’t been hurt as badly as she had.   Maybe David and Mary Margaret were just better at hiding it, trying to be the parents she needed. The parents they always claimed to be. Maybe they really did care for her more than she had ever realized. “Neal was your son, David. I know how much you have tried to be strong for Henry and me, but we are okay, and you should let yourself feel what you need to.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s just hard to let your children-- _both_ of your children-- go.” His voice was breaking her heart with it’s honesty.

Emma flushed. She knew they thought of her as their own, but to actually hear it out loud was a bit overwhelming. “Thank you, Dav—Dad.”

She was positive she could hear him smile over the phone. “So,” he said with a little choked up cough, “I guess this means that your settlement money is no longer tied up.” He gave a small chuckle. “It means that you don’t have to worry about money now, Emma.”

 _No more money worries?_ She had never had to _not_ worry about money. From the time she was born, it seemed like her whole life had been dominated by a lack of money. Orphans and foster kids weren’t exactly well-off.   And then with Neal, most of their fights always seemed to be centered around having just a little bit more. She never thought they needed it, but he did. What an irony that his death allowed her the one thing he kept trying for in life. It all made her feel a bit sick.

So, what was she supposed to do with the settlement? It was a substantial amount, but with her job at the Sheriff’s Station, there wasn’t a great need like before. Sure she could save it up for Henry, pay off his college, get a new car, fix up the house even. But none of that (except for helping Henry) really felt like the right thing to do. But all that could wait. Nothing had to be decided right away, and that thought lead her back to moment. To thinking about _him._ And what decisions she would need to make about Killian being a part of her and Henry’s life.

“I…Okay. Thank you for calling and checking up.” She knew she had to say more. Letting herself love Killian had taught her that it was okay to open herself up and take risks again. That not every ending was a tragedy, and that there were some people she could depend on.   “David, you’ve always been there, and I’m sorry I’ve acted like I don’t appreciate it, but I do. I really do. I just want to let you know that…I love you guys,” she was having a hard time speaking, too many emotions were fighting for dominance, “And let Mary Margaret know I love her, too.” At this point, she was barely whispering, but David seemed to hear her just fine. Over the line, she could have sworn she heard the snuffling of his nose.

“Of course, Emma,” he replied warmly. “Of course. We love you so much. You and Henry.”

She nodded, not caring that he couldn’t see her, and wiped away the tears from her cheeks. _God, she was a total mess anymore. Once those tears started, they just wouldn’t stop. This is what I get for refusing to cry all those years…one big, blubbery mess._ “Thank you, Dad. Good bye.”

She clicked the phone shut and just stared at the blank screen for several minutes, trying to organize her racing thoughts. Part of her wanted to race up to Killian, have him hold her and tell her everything would be fine, and part of her still rebelled at that idea, telling herself she didn’t need anyone to comfort her. But this was Killian, the man who had returned from the dead _for her_. Had saved Henry _for her_. Had stayed _for her_. To push him out now would only prove how weak she was, how scared. And she was so tired of being strong but alone. Always alone.

With determination, she left the room, strode down the hallways like she was a queen, threw open his door, and grabbed his stunned face. She pulled him into a blazing kiss, completely ignoring the shocked faces of the nurses still hovering about in the room. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered him murmuring an excited “bloody hell!” against her lips.

………………….

Sometime around noon the next day, Emma arrived, smirked, and without preamble, threw the bags she had brought with her to Killian’s room right on top of him.

“What the devil, Swan?” He asked, now sitting up, fully awake. Before she had come in like the golden-haired hurricane she was, he had been blissfully drifting back to sleep, listening to the inane prattle on that annoyingly addictive picture box they called a TV.

And then she arrived, smiling at him like she was the cat that ate the canary, and he was a goner. He knew he was no doubt grinning back at her like an idiot, but he had long since stopped caring. She lit up the room by her very presence, and he couldn’t help by smile whenever she was near. No matter what strange circumstances had put her in such a mischievous mood.

“I’m busting you outta here,” she said, opening the first bag and removing the contents. It contained what looked like several items of clothing. The next bag held a large box, that when opened, contained a pair of black leather boots.

“What’s all this, then?” He asked, running a cautious hand over the fabric laying on top of him. He lifted the black button-down shirt, and frowned. “Why the new attire? I’m sure my old clothes are still perfectly serviceable.”

She shook her head, a wistful little frown on her face. “I’m afraid they’ve been retired, Captain. Your coat was torn to shred by the rocks and your shirt and pants didn’t fare much better.”

He threw down the shirt and picked up a vest and a pair of pants. “So, I’m to wear this, then? Do I even get a say?” He knew he was being contrary, but three days cooped up in a hospital bed with little to do was driving him a bit mad. And he had spent over a hundred years trapped in a house with no escape. Also, if he was truly honest with himself, he was still feeling a bit out-of-sorts with coming to terms with the new era he found himself in.

“No,” she said resolutely. He wanted to snap at her, but when he looked up and saw the playful, and dare he hope, _lustful,_ look in her eye, he shut up. She had picked these clothes out _for him_ , and she obviously wanted to see him in them. Who was he to deny her this?

A slow, seductive smile played upon his lips. “Very well, Swan. I shall submit to your demands. After all, I’m sure I will still look devilishly handsome in whatever garb you’ve chosen to clothe me in.”

Hands on hips, she merely gave him a cool glance and said, “Just get dressed, Jones.”

He tilted his head, purposefully looking down at his bad arm, the clothes, and then back up to her. “I, uh, may need some help changing into these garments, love.”

“You can manage,” she said. He could tell how badly she was trying to hold back her smile, and it made him even bolder.

“Aye. But where’s the fun in that.” He rolled his tongue into his cheek and watched her eyes darken with rapt attention.

“I’m not undressing you in the middle of a hospital room where anyone can see, Jones.”

He chuckled at how badly she was trying to hide her desires. “Ah, but you do _want_ to undress me, don’t you.”

Her resulting blush was almost too much for him and he vowed to bring it out more often.   “Shut it,” she mumbled, thrusting the shirt at him gently, and reaching behind him to help him sit up all the way on the bed. Without speaking, she began to untie his hospital gown and pull it up over his head.

All bets were off at this point, and he could only stare at her as her deft fingers made quick work slipping off the cotton hospital gown, threading the new shirt over his good and bad arms, her warm hands caressing his bare skin. He could smell the scent of coffee and cinnamon radiating from her and his mouth went dry. Unable to look away, he watched as she trembled slightly, fastening up the row of buttons, her face scrunched up in concentration. All he wanted in that moment was to lean over, just a few more inches, and kiss her until neither of them could remember their own names. Suddenly, she looked up at him as if reading his mind, her eyes a deep forest green and filled with desire. She placed her hand firmly on his chest. “Later,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he croaked out.

……………..

The new clothes weren’t as uncomfortable as he had feared. Neither were they so beyond what he was used to that he felt self-conscious. She must have realized that he needed a style similar to the one he had sported for so very long, and had provided him with a satiny black top, a leather vest that buttoned up to mid-chest, and a pair of tight black pants she called _jeans_ which were thick and constrictive, but which to him seemed quite practical in nature. The boots she had procured were his favorite things, however. They were a soft, black leather, with a rounded toe and a comfortable bed. So much better than the boots he had worn for so many years. He marveled at how much the world had improved upon such things since last he was alive. All in all, he thought he cut quite the figure. His Swan must have thought so too, because he caught her staring at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. And the raw, unfiltered lust in her eyes when she did nearly made him forget all about his blasted _good form._

“So, we’ve got a few hours before Henry gets out of school. I thought you might like to try some real food,” she explained as she walked him to her yellow contraption.

The sun was out, the day was warm, and he was relishing every single new sensation on his skin. Never again would he take such simple pleasures like touching, smelling, or tasting for granted.   In fact, he was so absorbed in the feel of the sunbeams heating his hand, that he had almost missed what Emma said.

She stopped and looked at him, and his breath caught in his throat. Here, with the sun setting her hair ablaze in a golden halo, her eyes bright and clear, and every shade of pink on her skin revealed, she was like a radiant sun goddess, ready to strike fear into the hearts of the believers.

“Jones? Killian? Are you okay?” She asked, with a slight frown.

“Aye, love, perfectly,” he answered, unable to express to her just how wondrous he found this new life to be, or how absolutely amazing she was. He would no doubt have to simply show her later, as promised. “Lead on, my Swan.”

Shaking her head, she motioned to her car and told him to get in, which was easier said than done. He knew in theory how her vehicle worked, but he had not yet had any of the practice. She saw him struggle with the door and quickly rounded back to his side.   “Sorry,” she muttered. “I keep forgetting.”

“No need for ‘pologies, lass. Just show me what needs to be done and I shall do my best to accommodate.”

She demonstrated how to open the door, how to put on a seat belt, and even how to start and drive the car, as she drove them away from the hospital parking lot. He was utterly fascinated by the mechanics of it all, and a part of him was dying to try it out for himself someday. Surprisingly, his Swan was a very patient teacher, even as he pestered her with question after question. He had a feeling that this was how his life would go now. Him in awkward confusion like a curios child, and her always teaching him, despite how often she might roll her eyes or give him an exasperated sigh.  

As she was putting the car into park, pulling up just outside Granny’s diner, he leant over and kissed her cheek.

Startled, she turned and said, “What was that for?”

Killian shrugged and said nothing, except with his eyes. In them, he tried to convey just how much everything she had done had meant to him. “I love you, Emma.”

After staring back unreadably for a minute, she blushed, and looked down. For that minute, he became increasingly worried that maybe she was having doubts about him. About them. Then, suddenly she shot her head up, her jade eyes blazing with determined ferocity. “I love you, too, Killian.”

_Gods above, but she was brilliant!_

They took a moment to just stay that way, each of them gaining strength and security from the other. No more words were said because no more words needed to be said. They each completely understood that saying “I love you,” was no passing matter between them. It was too precious and too important a sentiment to ever be taken lightly.

Breaking the spell, Killian reached over and traced his fingers along her hand, always needing to touch her as much as he could. “Shall we?”

She nodded. “Let’s go.”  
………….

As they entered the diner, Emma caught sight of Ruby who was busy waiting on a customer near the back. She pulled Killian quickly into a booth, feeling a little rush of excitement that he was really, actually here with her. And now, everybody was about to know.

Ruby strolled over, seeing only Emma’s beaming smile, and said, “Emma! I’m so glad you came in! I’ve been so worried about you after I heard what happened to Henry. Is he alright? Regina said he was—“ she turned and saw Killian, and her coffee pot hit the floor.

Emma stifled an embarrassed laugh and just said, “Ruby, this is Killian. He helped rescue Henry.”

Killian smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgement, but otherwise acted like the perfect gentlemen, letting Emma take the lead. Ruby stared, unable to tear her eyes away from the dark-haired, blue-eyed Adonis in front of her. Suddenly realizing she was standing in a pool of hot coffee and staring at Emma’s friend, she shook her head and replied, “Oh, wow. Like, wow. That’s…wow.” She quickly bent down and swiped up the mess with a towel, running it to the kitchen and coming back with a fresh pot.

Emma wanted desperately to laugh. She knew exactly how Ruby felt and didn’t blame her one bit. Killian was breathtaking, especially in the new clothes. He looked like every bad-boy fantasy rolled into one. Briefly, she pondered if he would let her talk him into getting an earring. Or maybe wearing some jewelry. Her mind flashed through a dozen different images of his graceful, long fingers adorned with silver rings, running down her thighs. The coolness of the metal on her hot flesh. Grabbing at the chains nestled in his dark chest hair, pulling him closer to her. Pulling him _right there_.

 _Oh fuck, was it hot in here?_ It _was_ hot in here and she needed to cool off _right now_.  

Killian was eying her warily, a strange expression on his face. “Swan,” he whispered, leaning over the table so she was assaulted with a view down his half un-buttoned shirt, “are you alright? You’ve gone quite red.”

“Mmhmm,” she muttered, unable to form words.  

Ruby stood awestruck as she watched the two of them interact. Suddenly a wicked smile curved across her lips. “Why don’t I bring you both some ice water?” She offered and scurried away again.

As she departed, Killian took the opportunity to once again ask if she was alright. Finally, though, her composure had started to return to her. “I’m fine, I think maybe I just got a bit overheated from the sun. It’s pretty warm next to the window, don’t you think? There’s no shade and this type of glass intensifies the light, like a magnifying glass, and I think I just had too much sun, and Ruby really needs to get back here with that water,” she couldn’t shut up, her mouth spewing forth complete bullshit that wouldn’t stop.

He seemed awfully pleased by her answer, though, and she let out a breath, thinking she had gotten away with her lies. Suddenly, he turned with a smirk, “Swan, next time, don’t stand on ceremony. If you want something from me, just ask.”

 _Damn you._ She seethed. Luckily, Ruby arrived with their waters and the whole awkward situation was momentarily dropped. “So, what’ll you have, Killian?” Ruby asked, now her fully composed self.

He shot Emma a frightened look, silently asking what he should do. Quickly, she jumped in and said, “He’ll have a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke.”

Ruby nodded, writing down the order. “And you?”

“The same,” Emma replied, flashing a look at Killian she hope said _trust me, you’ll love it_. He gave her a barely perceptible nod.

“You know, Swan,” Killian said, as Ruby went to place the order, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of sampling those things you ordered, and I’ve been to many unusual locations. I’ve tried all manner of exotic foods and _alluring spices._ ” He wet his lips with an exaggerated tongue movement.

She sipped at the glass like a dainty princess and smiled knowingly. _Two can play those games, buddy._ “Yeah, but you haven’t tried _this_. I swear to you, it will melt in your mouth.” Licking around the straw with deliberate intent, she sucked up the water and watched his eyes sharpen to razors.

With a voice dripped in lust, he replied, “Indeed, I haven’t had _that_ particular pleasure either. However, I must admit, I’m quite _ravenous_ for a taste.” His blue eyes neared black as he looked up at her in behind those long dark lashes.

 _Shit. Where the hell was their food? They needed to leave. Right now._ Her thoughts plowed ahead, as her entire body felt like it was about to burst into a million scattered pieces.

_Calm down, Emma. If you take him on the table, Graham will be called in to arrest you and then how would you explain that.   You can do this._

Not soon enough, their food arrived and Emma hurriedly tucked in. She watched Killian sniff at the burger, lift the bun in curiosity, and then try his best to eat it with only one working hand. Eventually, he managed to take a bite and Emma nearly choked on her own food as his eyes rolled back and he groaned sinfully loud. “Gods, that is so bloody amazing.”

Emma clenched her thighs tightly and put her burger down. There was no way she would be able to finish. All she could do was watch him.

Bite after bite, he kept a running commentary on the taste and texture and smell of the food. The soda seemed to please him the most. He described it as “Glorious nectar, as sweet as milk tea, but with the effervescence of a mountain spring.” Emma was sure she was going to crawl right out of her skin by his words alone.

Nibbling at her fries and trying to look inconspicuous, she glanced around at the other patrons at the diner. None of them seemed remotely concerned about her or her companion. Not even as he continued to make obscene little moans and groans. Even Ruby had stopped coming over and had decided to give them their space. Occasionally, she noticed the brunette giving her knowing little smiles, but she had yet to say anything directly. Emma was positive her desires was written all over her face.

When he was finished, Killian pushed aside the plate and let his hand fall to his stomach. “Ah, lass, that was the best thing I believe I have ever tasted. No wonder you refused to share a meal with me at the hospital, when you had access to bounty such as this. Marvelous.”

She scoffed. “You know, you might be a little bit jaded because you haven’t tasted anything for so long, old man.”

With a flourish of his hand, he replied, “Oi! With years comes experience, Swan. And I wager I’ve had more years than any man you will ever meet.” He winked at her and rolled his tongue into his cheek.

“Okay! That’s it,” Emma declared, smacking both hands on the table and standing up to get Ruby’s attention. She yelled across the diner to the woman, “Ruby, we need the check! There’s been something come up.”

Killian chuckled beside her and she nearly slapped him. Instead, she threw down a couple of bills, and shouted, “Know what, Ruby, never mind. Just keep the change.” She tugged at Killian’s arm, forcing him from the seat. “Come on,” she growled.

Apparently, he knew better than to ask questions, so he simply followed Emma out the door, tipping an imaginary hat at Ruby as he passed, and said with a shameless wink, “The food was quite exemplary. The best meal I’ve had in three centuries, I’d wager. Please give my compliments to the chef.”

Ruby blinked twice at his passing and merely stood frozen as he got into the car with a fuming Emma.

…………………….

Two hours.

Looking over at the clock on her dial, she ran through the calculations again. Yep, just a little over two hours. That was it. She pressed the gas pedal down even harder and gripped the wheel. So absorbed was she in her thoughts, that she completely failed to notice what her other hand was doing. That was until Killian started to make little whimpering noises in the seat next to her. Drawn out of her musings, she checked the other side of the car to see what Killian was doing.

His head was thrown back, eyes shut tightly like he was in pain, and his mouth hung open.  Even his dark hair had a wild, abandoned look as it stuck out at enticing angles. With his good hand he clutched at the door handle until his knuckles were white.   At first she thought he was feeling car sick, that was until she looked down and noticed that her right hand was running seductive circles all up and down his thighs, inching closer and closer to his rather prominent bulge.

It was crazy how much her power over him affected her. She had never before been the type to try and seduce a man. With Neal, it was all soft, tender kisses, some impassioned embraces, and a stirring of butterflies in her stomach. But with Killian, it was already so much more.

Heart racing, she made it back to the house in record time, still in shock that she managed to not wreck them along the way or get a speeding ticket. The absolute worst thing that could have happened right now was for Graham to have to pull her and Killian over. The second she cut off the engine, she flew from the car, dragging a still-dazed Killian behind her. Before she opened the door, she turned to him, giving him a meaningful look and said, “We have two hours before I need to pick up Henry.”

That was all he needed to hear.

…………..

Never in his life (or death) had Killian experienced anything like Emma Swan. She was a whirlwind, a vortex of lightning wrapped up in the body of an angel. How was it possible that she was his? What had he ever done to deserve such a glorious creature?

At first, he was simply to overcome to do much more than follow her lead, but the second they were inside, the door shut firmly behind them, it was as if all of his 300 years of pent up desires came rushing to the surface in a molten volcano of _need_.

And _god,_ did he need her.

Already, she had half his shirt unbuttoned, but he wasn’t concerned with that. All he could see was the flush of her cheeks, the wet shine on her lips, and the dark lust in her eyes. She needed him. As much as he needed her. And he was determined to show her everything.

Their kiss this time was unlike any before. It was free from worry, free from guilt or sadness, free from fear of rejection or refusal. Their only focus was on the here and now. He slammed his lips against her, gulping in air only when it became absolutely necessary to breathe, in order to maintain his contact with her. He threw his whole body into the action. She licked against his lips and he groaned as he parted for her. Tongues tangled and twisted as their hands flew over their bodies, desperate for there to not be any more barriers between them.

He heard the rip of fabric, but didn’t know if it came from him or her. And then his hand burned along the silk plains of her abdomen and hips and he groaned again, louder this time. She pushed and pulled at his shoulders, trying to wedge him even closer and remove his shirt at the same time, while somehow managing to rifle her hands through his hair at the same time.  His shirt kept getting caught on the rigid crease of his cast and he began uttering curses under his breath while she laughed at him.  _Damn his cast!  Damn not being able to touch her with both of his hands!_ Never had he wanted anything more.

“Swan…” he moaned, drawn out and desperate. Her panting breaths were her only reply as she traced her hands through his coarse chest hair and down the muscles of his stomach to right where the band of his pants stopped her.

She looked up with a coy smile and slowly dipped her hands inside, popping the button as she went. And then, she was touching him, and he felt his entire body convulse. Pressing her further into the door, he went back for another attack upon her lips, this time, shoving his tongue inside forcefully, desperate for her salty sweetness. She let out her own moan and it nearly drove him insane.

And her hands, her hands were still stroking over him, clearly enjoying playing with his silky rigidity.

“Emma, please,” he begged.

She pulled back, only long enough to slide down the zipper and push the fabric down his hips. He needed no more coaxing as he helped her push the jeans down to his ankles. Finally free of the confines of the weighty fabric he sighed and took stock of the state of the woman in front of him.

Her lips pouted in anticipation, her eyes half-lidded, and her hair a sweaty, mussed wreck. She had never looked so stunningly beautiful. “Emma,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers and forcing himself to just breathe. “I love you so bloody much.”

Her whole posture seemed to slip as she softened at his words. The heat and passion were still there, just simmering below the surface, but it was already morphing into something even bigger, scarier, more like the true melding of souls as one.

“Killian,” she breathed, running her hand along his arm until she came to his hand. She lifted it toward her, placing it right upon her heart, and covered it with her own. Without needing to say anything, he understood what she meant. _Do you feel that, Killian? That is my heart beating for you. Only for you._

He nodded in assurance and slipped his hand down her chest, rubbing it up and under the demi-corset she was wearing, dying to touch her already peaked nipples. At the slightest touch, she arched her back and cried out.   “Off,” he growled, trying to figure out how to remove the lacey cloth over her breasts. She complied immediately, reaching behind and unfastening it. He pulled one of the straps down her arm with his hand and the other with his teeth, scraping them and his bearded scruff against her skin as he went.

He smiled to himself when she shuddered and slipped her legs around his waist. “Easy, Swan…” he admonished.

She huffed in indignation and tried to push him back, but he took it as a challenge and immediately dropped his head to suckle at her perfect breasts.  

“Oh, god, Killian,” she cried and wriggled against him seeking friction.

“Relax, love, let me take care of you.”

Unable to comply, she ran her hands over his thighs and back to his dripping member, eliciting a shattered groan from him. Hastily he thumbed at the button on her jeans, heart stuttering as it came loose and he was able to slide them off her. Barely even noticing the small lace scrap that covered her from him, he glided his hands back up her thighs, stopping just short of where he knew she wanted him to be.

“Damn it, Jones! Don’t you dare stop!” She demanded as he chuckled against her skin.

He hooked a finger around the edge of her undergarment and slowly, tortuously, he began to draw them down. “I believe I was offered a taste of your enticing spices, love. And I fully intend to sample your wares.”

Without further notice, he dove in, licking along her sopping wet folds as she furiously clawed at his hair and shoulders. He shivered with pleasure, tasting the heady musk of her womanhood as he sucked and tongued his way into her. Her legs trembled around his head, and he braced her up with a sure grip on her thigh. He could hear her pants turn into cries of ecstasy as she began to flutter and pulse around his tongue. Looking up, he watched her eagerly, wanting to always remember the moment he drove her over the edge.

“Oh, OH! God! Killian, right there! Oh, I’m…I’m…” she cried, louder and louder, until with a final anguished cry she fell apart.

No longer able to hold himself back, he stood quickly, pulling her slightly limp form onto him and wrapped her legs around his hips. “Hang on to me, love,” he said, not waiting for a response before he began to rub his tender flesh against her. With a single, determined movement, he dove in, pillaging and plundering like the pirate he was starting to believe he could be.

She was so wet for him, so warm and willing. He drew back, only to push in harder, never seeming to be able to get in deep enough. Her grip on his shoulders and back was near painful, but he barely noticed with the way her body felt around him. There was so much he wanted to say to her, to tell her how good she felt around him, to tell her how wet she was for him, how hard he was for her, but at the moment, all words failed him. Instead, he took demonstrated his love by more physical means, by delving into her mouth, running his hand through her hair, and tenderly caressing his thumb across her cheek as he went.

Soon enough, he could feel the quivering pulse of her approaching orgasm and he fought to drive himself even harder. She screamed out his name as she braced herself for the coming onrush.   He could feel the tingle at the base of his spine that told him how close he was as well. “Emma, love, so close…”

“Please…” she replied, hardly able to draw in the breath. “I need…”

He grunted and pushed up one more time, his cock spasming with his release, as she let herself go, triggering her own.   Slowly, he stilled his movements, drawing out their pleasure for as long as he could until they both fell into a tangled heap at the base of the door.  

They spent a while there, wrapped around each other, unable to move or even speak, only able to gaze at each other hazily. At long last, he chuckled to himself and said, “Emma, that was…”

The ghost of a smile played on her lips, as she replied, “I know.” Leaning over, she gave his a soft peck on his nose and he felt his cheeks flush. It was such a simple, sweet gesture, but it held such an infinite promise of more to come.

With a frustrated groan, Emma sat up and stretched her naked body, trying to relieve her overworked muscles. Reluctantly, she drew her pants closer and riffled through the pockets. Killian watched her with curiosity. “Forget something, love?”

She smirked and shook her head, pulling out the talking phone and flicking it on. “Crap,” she sighed, looking up to meet his eyes with a playful glint.

“What is it?”

Tucking her sweat-soaked locks behind her ears, she shifted to her knees, bending down over him with a teasing light in her eyes. “Not enough time for round two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still taking any ideas for the next chapter. More ladies' night, Marco, and Henry/Killian bonding are planned, but I am open to suggestions or additions.


	18. UPDATE

**A/N- I know most of you were expecting the last epilogue. I have good news! I am writing a sequel instead. The response I had on this story so exceeded my expectations, I decided to go ahead and do one more.   That’s right, more Killian and Emma, more epic love, more ghostly drama! Everything you asked for and more! And it’s all because of you guys! The fantastic reviews, the love, everything… I can’t thank you enough!!**

**It will be called _The Ghost and Killian Jones_ and here is the summary.   I’m hoping to have the first chapter up sometime in a week or so (?) depending on how my muse works. You can follow me on tumblr under username: _drowned-dreamer_ for updates, comments, etc.**

**SUMMARY:   While Killian, Emma, and little Henry try to figure out how to be a family, the powers that be have decided that Killian’s return has upset the laws of nature and must be corrected. In order to ensure that Killian once more returns to the land of the dead, they enlist the help of the most ruthless reaper out there; a man simply known as Rumple. With the help of their friends and some unexpected allies, Killian and Emma will have to face their greatest challenges yet. Can the magic of Emma and Killian’s love save them from the unstoppable wrath of the very man who took Killian’s life?**

**Keep watching… :D**


End file.
